Chapter Text
„I am sorry, master. I really am.” Ensured Astarion as he kneeled down before Cazador. „I didn’t mean to disappoint you. I was trying to be your ideal son. Really.”
The floor was freezing. Palace seemed to be far more cold than usual – as if all the warmth, that has been there once, completely disappeared long time ago.
Cazador hit him in the face. In the beautiful pale face, leaving there a red mark that would turn into a bruise after a while.
„Then you wasn’t trying hard enough.” Lord hissed. „I am so gracious! So generous! And what do I get in return, hm?! Your useless blabbing!” He pulled Astarion’s hair. In his spawn‘s red eyes there were tears. „You live in my house! You eat my rats! And you’re coming back with nothing once again?!”
„I will change! I will be the son that you want me to be since the moment two hundred years ago.” Astarion promised. But Cazador was more than sure that there were just empty words. Although, something among them seemed important. Two hundred years ago. The moment when they first met. The look of admiration in Astarion’s eyes... Cazador had rescued him and Astarion was so grateful that he didn’t seem to see the world beyond Cazador – his knight in the shining armor.
Cazador remembered the sweet words that had been coming from the Astarion’s ideal lips: please, help me... I don’t want to die… only you can help.
Yes. That was true. Cazador was in charge then. Astarion’s life depended on his choice. He could leave him to die there, in the dark street. Or he could rescue him.
Cazador turned Astarion into his spawn then. And Astarion became his. All his. With the whole beautiful body. His clever mind. His tender soul. Everything.
But nothing was as it should have been. Astarion was acting as if his fate was a curse. He didn’t seem happy nor satisfied. That unruly boy didn’t know such words as ‘obedience’ or ‘gratefulness’ – at least until Cazador figured out how to teach him meaning of these.
Once, almost accidentally, Cazador realized that Astarion becomes perfectly obedient when he is being hurt – and his screams... his beautiful screams are sweet like glamming honey. That day Cazador started to be rough towards Astarion. Cazador started to beat his spawn. Since that moment, shouting was like a routine, and so was lack of any proud or respect towards Astarion... And the vampire lord really liked it that way. He liked how Astarion was begging for his mercy – the mercy that he never got. The way that he was crying. For him. All of this just for him...
Now, this boy was laying in the ground, covered in tears and his own blood, which scent was delicious. Astarion. His Astarion. So uncovered... So weak. So lovely...
Cazador didn’t even know how many times he has beat him so far. But he knew that there was a greater purpose in all this pain and suffering. Alright, he was a bit… firm sometimes, but how could he explain this to himself, deep and safe in his mind, if not using the word that wasn’t heard in the Palace? Love. He knew why he was doing all of this. Why Astarion could understand it? Why didn’t he stop crying?!
“Stop acting as if you were so depressed, boy!” Shouted Cazador. It didn’t help at all.
Lord hiked some of Astarion’s hair up. His grip tightened as he was speaking:
“Thou shalt obey me in all things. Or, have you forgotten that, hm?”
“I… I wouldn’t dare, master.” Astarion replied, nearly whispered. Why this boy was so… so pitiful? Why did his face remain beautiful, even though all the pain… all the blood and bruises?
“I will make you mine, Astarion.” Cazador said, looking straight into his eyes. Then, he kissed Astarion. Rapidly. Brutally even. He deepened the kiss. It didn’t matter that the vain spawn didn’t help him at all: he didn’t kiss back nor even look at him – at his master! It didn’t matter at all. That was an act of mercy. Even if the boy didn’t understand it in the moment, he would – just a little later.
Astarion knew that there were two tiny streams on his face. That meant nothing. He could just lay there, watching as his tormentor is starting to rape him.
“There, there, my precious son.” Lord’s cold hands were now on the silverhaired’s bare chest, as spawn’s clothing had been ripped out of him.
Astarion felt his own salty tears even in his mouth. Once, two hundred years ago he let Cazador turn him into his spawn. He agreed. He said “yes”, when he still could disagree. That was the worst decision in his life… In fact, the last one that he could remember. Since then, he has been a slave. And he couldn’t decide any more.
Astarion’s body was trembling. From crying and… and from something more. His cheeks flushed a little. He felt unwanted pressure in his crotch. His body remembered as if he felt all that before. Yes. It was true. They had had sex before. Cursed two hundred years ago. The memory was vivid, but his body remembered it better than mind. He had been enjoying it then, and now, feeling the well-known touch, all of his muscle reacted as if he was here with a caring lover, not… not Cazador.
“Please, stop it, master… Please…” Astarion begged. But it didn’t work.
Cazador touched his face. Gently, slowly.
“Shhh… Everything is right, my son.” He said, kissing him once again, not beating.
Astarion felt his Cazador’s hand on his hip. Then on the inner part of his thigh.
They both were hard by now. Astarion felt as if his own body had betrayed him. But, actually, he stopped thinking about it. He couldn’t. A soft moan escaped from his lips. The touch was almost… almost gently.
“My dear child. My Astarion.” Cazador said quietly, straight to his pointy ear, the same moment as his erected member touched Astarion anus.
Astarion felt Cazador inside. His hips moved immediately, inviting Cazador in, deeper. That was like a memory. Memory of pleasure.
No… Don’t… Astarion thought desperately. But he didn’t say anything, just moaned. He didn’t even know who these words were meant for: Cazador or his own body?
“Yes. Just like that.” Murmured the vampire lord, moving in and out. It hurt. His member was bigger than any prey’s. His moves were fast, lustful. But it was also pleasant.
Astarion’s fingers clenched into floor, tightening onto his ripped clothes. His own nails were digging into his palms, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t even notice it. All that mattered was the fact that he was laying there, being raped by Cazador.
Why? Why was it happening? Why was he reacting like that? And why… why Cazador stopped beating him? The spawn couldn’t understand his master’s behavior rather often, but now… Now he was completely lost and confused. Cazador was touching him like some lover might. And that, in fact, was pleasant. Really.
It could have been worse. Astarion said to himself. But that changed nothing or maybe… almost nothing.
They both were close to the climax. Cazador movements became faster, and Astarion’s moans were louder. It was like melting ice; like a moment when something is changing irrevocably, to became a completely other thing.
Astarion felt that his hips have been hurt. There were awful bruises there, where Cazador was touching him – where long and sharp nails painfully tugged into the spawn’s pale skin. How many marks of the sex… of the rape will remain on him for days?
“My dear Astarion. Mine.” Said Cazador, coming. He finished inside of his spawn. His slave. His lover for this one day.
As soon as warm substance was ‘poured’ into the silverhaired’s body, Astarion came himself, onto his own stomach and the Kennel’s floor, covered in dust and his own blood. He even seemed to forget how he was beaten here, before the sex. How Cazador taught him a lesson here…
“Why…?” Asked the slave quietly. That was the only thing that he could say. He wanted it to be more complex though. That many thoughts… and that little answers… Why did you do this? Why did you changed me into a vampire? Why did I trust you once, two hundred years ago? Why did you rape me? Why did my treacherous body betray me? Why… why was you so… gentle, master? I don’t understand… Did… did you even love me two hundred years ago or… or ever?
“That’s for your own good, my child.” Cazador replied. The tone of his voice was so convincing that even Astarion wanted it to be true. He really did. But he couldn’t believe anyone. Even himself. “Now, you can go back to the dormitory.”
The spawn nodded. He looked on his ripped clothes. There were useless, but he still could tie the last of his shirt around hips, just to cover genitalia until he could find something else in the dormitory – and so he did.
Every part of him seemed to hurt – especially legs and lower parts of his body. And he could do nothing about it.
Astarion didn’t say a word, leaving the room. He didn’t even look at Cazador. His master just has raped him. Something has changed.
Astarion needed a bath. But even a bath couldn’t change the fact that Cazador’s cum was inside of him.
Why? He needed to say it. It could be a whisper, or a scream… He needed. But there was only silence all around him. None could answer the question that wasn’t asked.
Chapter Text
Everything had changed.
From that moment on, Astarion couldn’t look at anything without a bitter taste in his mouth. He did his best to avoid his master, to keep his distance as much as possible. But he knew it wouldn’t last forever. Cazador wasn’t a fool – he would notice soon enough. And then?
Then, it would happen again.
But for now, Astarion was alone. The solitude was a twisted sort of relief. It was isolating, suffocating, but at least it felt safe. Until the night when the almighty Lord Cazador Szarr summoned his spawn to the ballroom.
That was when Astarion knew his ‘independence’ was over. He couldn’t refuse. But… he could be late.
"Brother."
The grating voice of Petras cut through the dormitory just as Astarion was preparing to leave. He sighed, already irritated. He knew time wasn’t on his side – he had played his little game long enough. And yet, it had felt like a victory. A tiny rebellion in the grand scheme of Cazador’s rules.
But now, it was time to be a slave again.
"Why are you still here? Master wants us all in the ballroom."
"Does he?" Astarion murmured, feigning indifference. He was exhausted. He didn’t want to be hurt anymore.
"Are you deaf? Come with me." Petras sounded as if he had authority. The delusion was almost amusing. Who did he think he was fooling? The only will that mattered in this forsaken place was Cazador’s.
Astarion arched a brow. "Or else?"
Petras smirked. "I’ll tell him you delayed me on purpose."
Pathetic. The blonde thought himself clever, but his threats were hollow. He didn’t even realize how ridiculous he looked.
"Then tell him. Tell the world. I don’t mind," Astarion said smoothly, though it was a lie. He was afraid. He feared the consequences–feared that Cazador would punish him again, force him to relive that nightmare.
"We’ll both suffer if you stay here."
Astarion chuckled darkly. "How fitting. Rotting away in our lovely Kennels with no one by your side can be rather… depressing." The word nearly stuck in his throat. The Kennels. He despised that word. But he didn’t let it show.
"Brother! You have to go!"
Astarion exhaled slowly. He had stretched this act as far as he could. The moment was over. He stood.
"I don’t have to do anything. It’s my choice." Another lie. It was never his choice. It was Cazador’s.
As he walked toward the door, he could hear Petras’ frustration.
"Master will know what you did!"
Astarion didn’t even glance back. He simply shrugged and ran toward the ballroom. Cazador hated when they were late. And there was no mistake that went unpunished.
– – –
Astarion stepped into the ballroom. Cazador was already there, waiting. His siblings: Aurelia, Leon, Yousen, Dalyria, and Violet – stood in place. Their eyes were gleaming with either curiosity or some silent satisfaction. Band of vermin, only waiting for a moment of failure; a moment of their amusement. Petras arrived just before him, nearly stumbling in his haste.
"Astarion. What a surprise."
Cazador's voice was smooth, but beneath it lay a weight that made Astarion shiver. Every muscle in his body tensed as though bracing for a strike.
"Did you think I wouldn’t notice you skulking in the shadows, trying to avoid me?" His voice was sharp, like a perfectly aimed hammer, striking not just Astarion’s skull, but something deeper – his pride, his dignity. The impact left invisible bruises, ones that hurt far worse than any wound ever could.
Astarion fell to his knees. Please… Don’t… Not again. His mind raced, but no words felt safe.
"I am sorry, Master. I didn’t mean to–"
"Silence, boy!" The command cracked like a whip, lashing across his skin, and tearing it up. "Now you dare to lie to me?"
"I’m not lying, Master," Astarion forced out, his voice steady but his insides twisting. Each word only dragged him deeper into the pit. Cazador watched him struggle, amusement flickering behind his cold, scarlet eyes.
"Pathetic." A scoff. A slow shake of the head. "And because of what? Being put in your place." Cazador laughed – the sound of that was low and filled with contempt.
Astarion said nothing in return. He bit down the retort that burned on his tongue, forcing himself to breathe. But the silence was unbearable. He should say something. Anything. Obedient. Sassy. Calm. Defiant. Just… Just not being speechless.
Cazador let the hush stretch between them before snorting.
"We’ll talk later." Finality. A sentence, not a suggestion.
And just like that, the conversation was over. Cazador turned his attention to more important matters – as if the moment hadn’t happened at all.
"There will be a banquet," Cazador announced, addressing the gathered spawn. "In several days, important guests will arrive. You will all be there. You will be perfect." Not ‘acceptable’, nor passable. Perfect.
Astarion barely heard him. The echoes of Cazador’s previous words throbbed in his skull.
"Being put in your place."
Was that truly all it was? Was he… being dramatic? He wanted to believe otherwise. Needed to. But doubt slithered through him like a sickness.
"Astarion! You aren’t paying attention." Violet’s voice rang out, deliberately loud enough for Cazador to hear.
Astarion’s expression didn’t shift.
"Not true," he said smoothly. "I heard everything. I can repeat it if necessary." It was a bluff. A mask. But he had perfected that art centuries ago. After two hundred years in this palace, he knew exactly how to improvise.
Cazador barely spared him a glance.
"Spare me your babbling, child." His voice was bored. "I wasn’t asking you to speak."
"And Violet?" Astarion tilted his head. "What about her? She didn't have permission to speak either, and yet here we are."
A flicker of fake amusement passed through Cazador’s eyes, but it was gone just as quickly, connoting a kind reaction for an unfunny joke.
"I am talking about you, Astarion." His name. He hated hearing it from Cazador’s lips. It was a leash, a reminder of ownership. A reminder that there was no respect for him in this place. And a reminder that once, long ago, there had been something more complex between them – or at least a shade of it.
And now, all that was left was this.
– – –
The meeting was over. The others were free to return to the dormitory – or, in Leon’s case, to the Favored Spawn’s chamber. They had privilege. One that Astarion didn’t get. He had his own destination. The guest room, due Cazador’s orders.
The walk there felt far too short. His feet moved against his will, carrying him toward something he desperately wanted to escape. But he couldn’t…
“You’ll have a private audience, won’t you, brother?” Petras, of course. He never missed an opportunity to be insufferable.
Astarion didn’t even look at him as he replied, voice dripping with honeyed mockery.
“And you won’t shut the fuck up, will you, brother?” He replied with deliberate vulgarity, making a perfect mirror of Petras’s own words.
Petras muttered something about rudeness but, thankfully, said nothing else. At least that worked. It was good to know that there was a thing that went as mentioned.
Astarion turned to the right when he was downstairs. The door loomed ahead, polished wood and cold iron. His hands twitched.
Maybe it’ll just be another beating? He thought, walking into the chamber. There weren’t many things in the guest room. Several shelves. Tasteless paintings. A red rug. And… and bed. Beautiful, king-size bed. It was bed chamber but Astarion couldn’t remember if anyone ever actually slept there – well, at least only slept.
Maybe he’ll only yell, strike me once or twice, then leave?
A bitter laugh bubbled in his throat at the thought. How pathetic… Somewhere deep inside of himself, he was actually hoping for a lesser cruelty…
Cazador had called him naïve. He was right – and the awareness was terrible.
Then, he noticed something else. His cheeks felt damp. Tears.
His fingers brushed against them in disbelief. He hadn’t even noticed. No. No. He gritted his teeth, forcing them back.
It won’t happen again. I won’t let it.
But then–
A sound. A familiar sound. The footsteps that he had known too well. Astarion’s entire body went rigid. He’s here.
A single breath. A fraction of a second. Maybe… maybe he could fight. He had never won against Cazador before. Never even come close. But– maybe just this once, he really could do that.
One time. One desperate chance.
Even if it was impossible.
Chapter Text
Cazador watched his ‘children’ file out of the ballroom, their figures vanishing into the dim corridors of the estate. The meeting had concluded, and they now knew the details of the upcoming event – the banquet. Every family that mattered would be there, even those from beyond Baldur’s Gate.
Mrel Alkam would be among them. That self-important patriarch of Athkatla, his rival. Let him come and witness true power. Let him see that Baldur’s Gate, not his pitiful backwater, was the place that truly mattered.
Of course, most of the guests wouldn’t have the slightest inkling of the banquet’s true nature. His secret was well kept. The spawn would be presented as his loyal subjects, just as he had shaped them – his little pets; the roles he had chosen for them: which were most often either prostitutes or (as this time) subjects. But Astarion…? Astarion was different.
Astarion would not be displayed as just another servant. He would stand at Cazador’s side. His consort. His chosen one. The realization would devastate the boy, no doubt. That helpless expression, that glimmer of defiance drowned in fear–it was magnificent. Almost amusing.
The sound of a door clicking shut echoed through the hall as no one but he remained in the ballroom – his children closed the door. Cazador smirked. He was well aware that none of them would destroy anything. Everything would be in place. It always was.
There were still eight days until the banquet – almost a full tenday. But he had no intention of wasting those remaining nights; not when they were so many activities to do.
He knew what he should start with. Astarion. That little brat needed a reminder. A lesson. It was Cazador’s right to remind the boy who he belonged to. And the opportunity wasn’t to be missed.
That naïve spawn… Oh, how sweet it was to think he could have a choice, that he could avoid him – his master – or that he has any choice. He couldn’t hide from Cazador’s gaze forever. Astarion would learn that there was no escape.
Cazador moved unhurriedly down the corridor, his footsteps light, deliberate. He savored the approach, the inevitability of it all. Astarion was waiting for him. Not by choice, of course. But that hardly mattered. The knowledge that his will had placed the boy there was intoxicating.
When he arrived, he did not knock. He never needed to. This whole palace belonged to him. It was a property of Szarr family for centuries now. It was an honor to have a legacy like that. But he was aiming higher that his ancestor were. There was an ocean of opportunities, waiting just for him – the one that Donella or any Szarr before couldn’t see. But Cazador saw it. And he knew that one day all of that will belong to him, starting from Baldur’s Gate.
He opened the door to the guest room. Astarion stood in the center of the chamber, rigid as a statue. His crimson eyes gleamed in the candlelight, twin stars set in a face far too pale.
Had he been crying? Why? Shouldn’t he be grateful? Hadn’t he been honored enough among all of his pitiful siblings?
“You weren’t bored waiting for me, were you, my dear?” Cazador’s voice was silk-smooth as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He reached for the boy’s hair, intending to brush a silver strand behind his pointy ear, in a gesture of possession, of control. But Astarion made a rapid movement, escaping from his master’s touch.
Cazador raised a brow.
“So your obedience is slipping? A pity.”
There was a flickering glow of disagreement in the silverhaired’s eyes.
“Don’t touch me, master.” His voice was steady.
Cazador’s smile sharpened. “How rude.” He commented. Astarion’s words were meaningless. The boy had no power here. Never had. Never would. And if the shade of softness, that lord was about to share, didn’t work, Cazador could be different. All of this could be painful – for Astarion’s own wish, even if not directly spoken.
The boy’s resistance was feeble, but interesting. A final ember of rebellion that had yet to be extinguished. Cazador seized his wrist, feeling the tension coil beneath Astarion’s skin.
He grabbed Astarion’s wrist, feeling the tension in the boy’s fist as he clenched it in resistance. Cazador’s eyes gleamed with amusement. The fight was futile, yet somehow, brave. It made Astarion all the more intriguing.
Astarion placed his hand on Cazador’s chest, not in affection, but in an attempt to push him away. It was weak, desperate. It wouldn’t work.
Szarr chuckled, low and indulgent. The boy was fascinating – such contradictions wrapped in trembling flesh.
With ease, Cazador tilted Astarion’s chin upward, forcing their eyes to meet. Astarion’s breath was uneven, his fear radiating off him in waves. Exquisite.
He was a work of art. A masterpiece in the making. Not perfect. But in the moments like that – when Cazador looked right at him, studying every part of boy’s complex soul, he understood that perfection was dull. It was the flaws that made him so captivating. The struggle. The wavering between resistance and surrender. The contrasts. His tender soul, nearly waiting to be broken. His fragile heart – so soft as it could be torn into the pieces with one slide of a usual knife.
And Cazador would break him all. Astarion was his.
“Stop this foolishness, child!” He murmured, a doze of irritation in his voice. “You should be thanking me.”
Astarion did not respond. He wasn’t going to cooperate.
Cazador’s patience wore thin.
“Thou shalt obey me in all things.” His voice turning sharp, edged with command. “Or have you forgotten that, hm?!” He shouted.
Astarion’s faze had been twisted in pain. Runes on his back started glowing bright red. He gasped, his knees buckling, his body betraying him. His eyes flared crimson – similar to the rune’s color – unnaturally bright. His will was no longer his own.
Cazador smiled. There. Order restored.
“My child.” He crooned. As if he sung a ballad or read some poetry. He was looking at his spawn like a winner could look at his reward. Astarion was truly beautiful.
Astarion’s lips parted, the word slipping out like a dead breath. “Master.” One word. Nothing more. Master. Exactly. Nothing else was needed.
“Kiss me, sweet one.” An order. This pretty boy was his. His whole: body, mind and soul. And no one could deny it.
Astarion hesitated for only a fraction of a second. Then, as dictated by their bond – by the chains, which was connecting master and his spawn, wrapped around his very soul – he obeyed. Their lips met in a kiss, slow and deliberate, Cazador savoring every moment of Astarion’s reluctant submission.
Cazador’s hands slid to Astarion’s waist, drawing him closer, and kissing back. It was perfect. A delightful moment. The sweet taste of Astarion’s mouth. The tender sensation. As nothing else really mattered.
“My dear.” Cazador whispered into his ear, which made the boy shiver. And not only shiver. A soft, unwilling sound escaped Astarion’s precious lips – he moaned.
Cazador’s smile widened. “Don’t fight it, child.” A few lingering kisses at the delicate curve of Astarion’s neck – before, with fluid grace, Cazador sank his fangs deep into flesh.
Astarion’s body tensed, but his head had been automatically titled to the side, making more space for the bite. It was a dance. A ritual. Intimacy, of the most interesting kind.
The life-giving substance floated from one to another. The sensation… The first taste of blood hit Cazador’s tongue. The richest, most delicious thing in existence. And not just any blood. Astarion’s blood. The sweetest blood.
He’s never been tired of it. Never would.
He drank. A little more than needed. He could allow it. It was like a praise that he gave himself. The boy will be only a bit more tired, that’s all.
Cazador finally let go of him. But not for long – only a moment was parting them from something more. A step forward. An intimate moment. A deep pleasure. Night of lechery.
“Strip for me, would you?” Cazador said softly, almost whispered. He lustfully watched his spawn taking of his clothing. It was exciting – as if he looked at moment of unveiling the newest piece of art (even though he had seen Astarion naked numberless times.
The white shirt. Black trousers. Blue underwear. All of this was on the floor the next moment. And there he was – his spawn. Like a blossomed flower, ready to be picked. Like a letter, ready to be read, to show all his secrets. His body was ideal. These symmetrical curves… These muscular limbs.
Cazador undid his own belt.
“On your knees, Astarion.” A command. He felt all of the power. Authority. That was one of these moments that couldn’t be forgotten.
And Astarion obeyed. He was now kneeling before him – before his master. Szarr smirked. He could now do anything to this boy, who couldn’t be better than now. Obedient. His.
Cazdor looked straight into Astarion’s crimson eyes – two engaging red stars. His hand on Astarion’s hair, petting those silk-soft silver curls, ready to pull them without a moment of hesitation.
“You are beautiful, sweet one.” Commented vampire lord. Pulling out his member.
Astarion took it. He had been well-trained – all of his prays haven’t been for nothing. No ungainly moves. No vacillation. He was experienced.
The spawn kissed him gently. Then, he licked a top and one side, slowly descending. He was acting slowly for a while, and then, he widely opened his mouth, and take him in – but only a part for now.
Moves were calm, measured. Their eyes met. In the same moment, Astarion started to use his hand. He couldn’t keep an eye contact for long, letting his gaze escape to the lower parts of Cazador’s body.
Then he took him all. Szarr pulled the silver curls, making his spawn’s moves faster. He was close to the edge.
The boy was using his tongue as well. Cazador exhaled quietly at the sensation.
One more moment. And lord’s cum floated down Astarion’s throat.
The spawn coughed once or twice, but he swallowed it. Good for him. Cazador hadn’t give him anything to waste it on the floor as some trash.
“On the bed” Another command. It would never be boring.
Astarion sat on the bed without a word, his knees together. Szarr couldn’t help but laugh at the sigh.
“Don’t act so innocent, boy. On your belly.”
“I’m sorry, master. I didn’t know how you wish to have me.” His voice was sweet. Of course, it hasn’t got a part of honesty, but that didn’t matter in the moment. The important fact was that Astarion really turned on his stomach. Good.
Cazador came closer to him. Slowly. Deliberate. They had as much time as he wished. And the play was just beginning.
He laid a hand on the pale buttock. His fingers clenched a little.
“My dear Astarion” He said. And made Astarion his with one rapid move, making the boy scream.
Chapter Text
Cazador was moving inside Astarion. The rhythm was regular (and rather fast); perfect. Like tapping on piano in the ballroom – and the moans were sweet music that went within.
There were drops of sweat on the silver-haired’s pale skin, shining in the dim light of flickering flames of candles. The spawn moaned, his fists clenched on the soft bedding.
“That’s it, my dear. Let me hear you.” Cazador said, his hand on the soft curls. “Let the whole palace know what that you are mine.”
“I… I’ve already been… yours… master…” Astarion stammer the sentence out, trying to calm his breath. The lord hated this nasty habit.
“Do not falter, boy!” Cazador hissed. He’s not been telling his spawn that many times to speak clearly just to watch as he does completely the opposite.
Astarion didn’t reply. Maybe because he had managed to bit his tongue – or because there was a cry of pain and pleasure that escaped his mouth in the next moment, when Cazador intensively hit his prostate.
“Say” The vampire lord has fastened. His fingers gripped on his spawn’s hips, long black nails leaving red marks on them. “Am I not merciful for you?”
Astarion closed his eyelids.
“Yes, master. You are.” He managed to say, his body shaking a little from all the tension.
Cazador smirked. The boy was completely at his mercy. He – Cazador Szarr – was not only his master; not only his loving parent, but also his owner. His god.
“Do not come.” He commanded, using the bond between them. “Not until I will give you an allowance to do so.” His insightful eyes noticed a small change in Astarion’s body. The order has been listened to. Even if the boy will try to pointlessly fight it, his obedient body will do certainly as commanded.
“Master… Please…” Astarion begged. Every touch was now a specific king of torture. His body was burning, and he wasn’t even trying to hide it; probably didn’t even think about it.
Cazador loved Astarion when they were having sex; worshiped every single second of it. His child was so uncovered then. So… pure. Honest. True. Somewhere between every intimate gesture, there was a real part of him. With every touch of his pale tender skin, Cazador felt as if he could see a morsel of Astarion’s soul. His fragile, naïve soul, ready to be broken. To be parted into small pieces. And that was beautiful.
Cazador immediately forced his spawn to turn on his back, with strong and fast move of his right hand. Then, he bit Astarion. Well-known place on his neck seemed to be made for Cazador’s alabastrine fangs. He didn’t drink much this time – he felt no hunger after the last time, but it still was delicious; like another sip of expensive wine.
Then, even before his sharp teeth abandoned the spawn’s ideal neck, Cazador entered Astarion’s body once more, making the boy moan even louder.
“Master…” Astarion opened his legs wider in a blind custom. His own erected (but shorter than Cazador’s) member was twitching in the process. Was this whole situation an act for him? His lips were slightly parted. And his eyes… There were tears in his eyes, making them glazing. Cazador wanted to find something… something deeper. But he could see no love. Only animosity, regret and pain – not the kind of paint caused by their sexual activity, but the other…
No. He should smile! He should truly enjoy it!
Cazador was furious. Astarion couldn’t understand it! His perversity was irritating. Why was he like that?! He got so much!
Cazador hardly tugged the spawn’s silver hairs. He moved in and out several times more and he came inside. But he wasn’t satisfied. He held the tip inside for a while, then he left Astarion’s body, who was giving him that awful look, blemishing his own pretty face with an ugly scowl.
“Get out of here!” The vampire lord pushed him on the floor. He didn’t mind that Astarion had a truly rapid meeting with the wooden surface. He didn’t mind that he wasn’t allow to come, as the magic command hadn’t stopped working.
“But, master…” Astarion started, fear in his eyes. Another of his stupid games. An useless try.
“Now!” Cazador shouted.
Astarion immediately collected his clothing and put on everything, then he rushed out of the chamber, trying to slightly fix his own hair meanwhile.
Ungrateful child. And he didn’t even lock the damn door.
Cazador watched as he’s coming to the dormitory. Very well. He might act like that for now – as if it all was one punishment. But in time the boy will realize who he really belongs to.
Yes. Szarr smiled at the thought, delighted. Astarion hadn’t know that yet, but soon, their meeting like this one will end completely different. The boy will be begging to be his. And then, Cazador will mercifully give him what he craves.
– – –
Astarion arrived to the dormitory. Before entering, he had made sure that his perfect smile is clearly-seen on his face.
“Welcome back, my dear siblings!” He said liltingly, when the door stood open before him.
“You look like a mess.” Violet commented, her eyes moving from his disheveled hair to crumpled cloths.
“Oh, it’s nothing dear sister.” He ensured, but his fingers run through the silver curls, managing to fix them a bit. “I’ll probably take a bath. I’ll see you back for a moment.”
He went to the part of the chamber where stood a big washtub in which they all could take a bath. The water wasn’t the cleanest though – it was changed every day, but there was no doubts that his dearest sibling had already bathed themselves. A pity. At least that hadn’t waste all of the soap (which – fortunately – smelled really nice, and even seemed more expensive than the last one).
He sat in the water. His hands were shaking. He hid them under the surface of the water. He shouldn’t be afraid nor concerned. Nothing had happened! Alright, he had been raped, but that wasn’t his first time. It wasn’t bad. They finished rather quickly. And he was thrown away like some rubbish… What did he do wrong this time? Moaned too quiet? Or maybe too loud?
He didn’t understand Cazador at all – even though he had thought that he did one day, in the past. And there were no explanations. Just simple fuck off out of here and that’s all.
But there was no use in being sentimental. Ha had had better days, but also worse ones. It wasn’t bad.
So he forced himself to keep smiling. As he did so often – nearly always.
When he finished washing himself, he went out of the water and went back to the dormitory proper. Most of his sibling were already sleeping. Most. It would be easier if no one remained awake by the moment.
“What happened, brother?” Dalyria asked. She was probably waiting for him to return, so she could ask this question, sitting on the bed just above the one that ‘belonged’ to him. They had been sharing a bunk bed since… always – the one closest the door actually.
“Nothing, Dal.” He replied, giving her a practiced smile that she perfectly knew. “I’ve been a little disobedient today, but now everything is just as it should be.”
“He’s been fucked by our master himself. And it was rather hard as far as I can see.” Petras hummed, not even bothering to rise his head from his pillow. Astarion thought that the bastard was sleeping.
“What?” The silver-haired laughed at this. “No. Nothing serious has happened. Really. Keep your kinks to yourself, my dear brother. Now, if you’ll allow me, I would like to rest a little.”
“Brother-” Dalyria was about to add something.
“I would have told you if anything were wrong, Dal.” Astarion said. “Nothing has happened today. Trust me. Now, if you excuse me, I am a little tired. Goodnight.”
“Night.”
Astarion could only lay down and stare at everything: at the downside of Dalyria’s bed. At wall. At door… He kept saying it to himself. Nothing’s wrong. He’s fine.
After a while, he was able to convince himself to that. Then, he felt asleep to see what’s new horror waiting for him the following day.
Chapter Text
Astarion woke up. His body was aching – especially the lower parts: his hips, tighs, and – of course – buttocks, not even mentioning his anus.
Fucking Cazador he thought, but – obviously – didn’t dare to say it out loud. The last day it wasn’t that bad, but now… Now the story was completely different.
He sat up, just to realize that his back hurt as well… When Cazador was taking him face-to-face his position wasn’t quite comfortable, but then the adrenaline was keeping the pain away – now he remembered the damned part of the bedframe that his bare skin had painful contact with.
He turned on his back. The dormitory was completely covered in silence. Everyone was sleeping. Well, almost everyone. Such an irony – he should be the one who would sleep the longest that night, due to his night ‘activities”. But the faith wasn’t as generous as he wished it to be. He knew that he will be tired… He was sure. So maybe… Maybe he could sleep for a moment more…
He closed his eyes. A wave of memories floated his mind. He was in the guest room. Again. It was as clear as reality… As if someone moved time back. He was in the damned bedroom. On the bed. His thighs wide opened. And Cazador… Cazador, with his grin, removing his own trousers a little – just enough for his erected member; about to step closer. One step. It would be enough to close the gap between them.
Astarion immediately opened his eyes. He wiped out the tears that had managed to gather up there, almost streaming down his face.
No. Not again. He nearly whispered this. But he didn’t let himself for such words. He shouldn’t. He couldn’t. After all, nothing had happened. Nothing at all.
The silver-haired stood up. All the rest of the spawn was still asleep, so he didn’t bother waking them up. Instead, he normally brushed his hair, and got dressed. Then, he left the dormitory, not disturbing the silence – almost perfect, if not counting occasional murmurs from the siblings of his.
He looked perfect – at least so he hoped. Everyone kept saying that he’s beautiful, so that was probably true.
He hadn’t got any idea how bad would be the way upstairs. His legs hurt so much. And… the other lower parts of his body. Only strength of his will stopped him from taking a break in the middle of stairs. He forced himself to go all the way up. Then, there was a corridor, which wasn’t that bad, considering the challenge behind him.
“Astarion.” He stopped, straightening up his body, hearing the well-known voice.
“Master” It took him a second to look up at Cazador, but when he finally did it, there was a warm smile on his face – his lips performing an act, as every single day. But the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Szarr was elegant as always. His straight black hair without any, even slightest sign of disorder. His expensive clothing with no gatherings.
“That’s such a beautiful night, don’t you think so, master?” Cazador seemed to be in good mood, if that was even possible – maybe more proper term was he wasn’t in as bad mood as always. Anyway, Astarion didn’t want to destroy it.
“It’s barely an evening, boy. Sun is still shining. I wouldn’t recommend going outside now.” Master’s voice sounded exactly as always. It wouldn’t let anyone forget who was in charge, reminding that this man was above every single soul in the place – both living and dead ones.
In fact, Astarion hadn’t got a clue what time it was. Every curtain all the way here was covering a window.
“I didn’t know. Thank you, master.” The silver-haired said, but Cazador’s face didn’t change, even slightest. It stayed unreadable. Was something wrong? Wasn’t Astarion polite enough? Maybe Cazador thought that he was going to escape? “I was going to hunt for a pray for you, but I will go back to the dormitory, as it is too early.” He explained, not wanting to give Szarr a reason to potential punishment, as he hadn’t got an allowance to leave the palace if not to bring there another fool. Then, he was about to turn back as he stood, not wanting to face the lord any second longer.
“No. You will come with me to the ballroom.”
Astarion froze. His fake smile faded for a second, fear keeping him from doing anything. But then, he continued the act.
“Of course, master.”
Astarion nervously looked around, following Cazador. It seemed that temperature here was lower than only a moment before. Coldness was clenching its freezing mitts around the silver-haired one. What would Szarr want this time?
“Are your sibling still asleep?” The question was asked before they reached the ballroom.
“I think so. They were, when I was leaving the dormitory.” Astarion replied, not hiding the truth.
“Then I suppose that we have some time for ourselves.” A smile showed up on Cazador’s face – but it had no warmness.
The ballroom was quiet. Musical instruments at left, in the corner, was like a remaining shadow of every party that had place there – or an omen of the ones that haven’t happened yet. However, in the moment there was completely quiet here.
The vampire lord approached to long, expensive table in the middle of the room. He sat at his place – at the end of it. Astarion’s gaze didn’t leave him, even for a second, but he didn’t take a sit, keeping a little distance between them. Or at least, wanting to keep it.
“Come closer, Astarion.” The sentence sounded like a request. But Astarion was here for too long to think of it as one. It was a command. So he obeyed. Now, he was right next to the table, before Cazador.
“Closer.”
A moment of hesitation. He was standing right before the lord… And yet, Cazador was waiting.
Astarion wasn’t sure if he understood it properly. If not, then he will be in a tragic situation… But if he thought right… it wasn’t quite better actually.
He sat on his master’s lap, closing his eyes, wishing it to be right choice.
Then, Cazador’s fingers brushed the silver curls. Slowly. Deliberately, making a shiver run through Astarion’s whole body.
“Don’t be afraid, sweet one.” A whisper. Szarr’s soft lips nearly touched the spawn’s pointy ear. Then, before Astarion could react, a pair of fangs sank into his neck, making him gasp.
Cazador drank some blood. His hands were on Astarion’s shoulder and hip, keeping him in place, but also showing all the control and possessiveness. After that, the older vampire licked the mark left after the bite.
“I want to talk with you and your siblings about incoming banquet. Go. Inform them that I want to see them here.” Cazador whispered.
Astarion simply nodded. He stood up, and walk towards the door, nearly run, not wanting his master to think that he plays for time.
The Cazador’s touch… It seemed not to leave his body, as if the strong hands were touching his pale skin in the moment. As if the fangs were deep in his neck… As if the tender tongue was licking the mark beneath his jaw… The sensation was… so unique. And Astarion? Astarion only wanted to forget it completely or beg for more. Nothing between.
He kept walking. And again the damned stairs. Why Cazador was so rough in the bed? It hurt now…
Having his teeth clenched, Astarion was back in the dormitory rather quickly. He masked his real emotions under his usual smile, and he shouted.
“Wake up, dear siblings! It’s time to clamber out of your sacks already!” His voice was dripping from mocking sweetness.
“Fuck off” someone murmured. The rest mostly approved.
“Our dearest master wants to see us all. And he told me that some time ago. I think that we all may be delayed by now.” Astarion said as if it was the most normal thing in the world. A little bluff was always fun.
“Holy shit, Astarion! You should have started from this!” Yousen stood up immediately. All the rest was standing as well within a moment.
“Does Leon know about it?” Dalyria asked, looking around as if the mentioned brother should be in the room.
“I am not sure. I came to you first, dear siblings.” Astarion shrugged. “Perhaps someone should go and check the favorite spawn chamber for it. I think that I will go to the master already. He waits in the ballroom.”
As he said it, he just left the room, and head upstairs again, leaving some ‘epithets’ about him behind.
When he came back to the ballroom, Cazador was reading a letter. The owner of this whole place didn’t even look at the silver-haired.
“Sit.” He simply ordered.
Astarion chose a chair as far from Szarr as possible, being aware that the lord doesn’t like empty places between people at table, but also knowing that his ‘brothers and sisters’ can be closer to their master. Fortunately, this day Cazador didn’t make him sit beside him, as he had done many times before.
There was no need for asking if the rest of Cazador’s spawn has been called. Astarion wouldn’t dare to come back here if he hadn’t obeyed.
Within a few minutes, everyone was in the ballroom. Cazador finished reading a piece of paper, then he tucked it and laid on the table. A small gesture of his hand was a signal for servants to bring meals for his ‘children’. Seven rats have been brought.
“Sit, my children.” He said to those who had been standing so far, as only Astarion had heard an allowance to take a sit.
Once they all were at the table, the six got rats. Six. Astarion remained with empty hands, even though there was one more animal, held by a servant.
“Master?” The question has been asked in calm voice, nearly pleading. Astarion was so hungry… Seeing as the others eat was making his stomach twitch.
Cazador smirked in response. Rats, now half-drained, wee squeaking loudly. And the six hadn’t finished drinking. Not yet. Not when there remained even a drop of precious blood.
“As you know, soon there will be a banquet here, in our home.” Cazador started, ignoring Astarion. For now. “You will represent me, so there will be no mistakes. I can promise you all that I will be really mad if any of you will do something wrong. Usually, there’s no collective responsibility, but this time it won’t matter who spoils anything. I’ll see every one of you in our Kennels.” The tone of his voice was… calm. It sounded as if he was telling them some good news. But his ‘children’ knew. It was a thread. Deadly-serious thread…
“But, master! Astarion will surely fuck something up.” Said Petras, crossing his arms on his chest. He looked as if he was about to add something, but instead he just twisted, probably getting a kick from a ‘sibling’ who was more responsible than him.
“I believe he won’t.” That sentence made Astarion feel cold… Fear was flooding, nearly chocking him. “But as we are talking about him, I should probably inform that I have a special role, just for him. I hope that he will act well. A reward may await.” The vampire lord extended his hand. The servant with the seventh rat didn’t hesitate, knowing exactly what to do. An animal has been placed onto Szarr’s hand, immediately getting caught between slender fingers.
“What is the role, master?” Astarion asked, his eyes at the rat. He needed to eat!
“You will be presented as my partner, little one.”
The room went silence. Only squeaking of the damn rat was heard.
“I… I am not worthy of the honor, master.” Astarion said quietly. Why? Why would Cazador do that?! It… It was ridiculous!
“You are not, indeed. But I’m not asking for your opinion. Better do not fail me, Astarion.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Astarion whispered. His mind was racing, looking for any excuse. Something to avoid it. Anything! But… There was nothing that he could do about it.
Chapter Text
The reactions varies – ranging from surprise and confusion to amusement. And Astarion? He looked like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t find the words – or perhaps he was simply too afraid.
“I trust you will behave.” Cazador said, relishing the weight of his power. He loved the feeling of having absolute control there, in the palace.
And the boy said nothing more.
What was all of this for? Authority. Glory. But also… something more. Cazador couldn’t look at that precious face – so tender… so pure – and imagine spending the banquet with anyone else at his side. He wanted no one else.
“What should I wear, then?” Astarion asked eventually, clenching his fists. He couldn’t keep be silence for more than a moment. “I’ll bring you nothing but shame and whispers among your almighty guests, my lord.”
Of course, Cazador noticed the subtle act of resistance.
“You will receive appropriate clothing when the time comes. I’ll provide everything. Don’t trouble yourself over it.” He had also noticed something else: Astarion had deliberately avoided addressing him properly. My lord – such an omission; a deliberate one, no doubts. A small yet noticeable act of defiance, that Szarr couldn’t ignore.
“I am grateful.” The silver-haired murmured. No master added. No proper deference. Only the glint of smugness in his crimson eyes – a brief taste of victory. Or so the boy thought.
“Does anyone want an extra rat?” The vampire lord asked, his tone unchanged – deceitfully calm. “It seems that Astarion isn’t hungry.”
“Pardon me?” Astarion’s brow arched as he reacted before any of his siblings could. “I was waiting for it. I am hungry, master. I’ve just said that I was grateful. I deserve to eat.”
Cazador laughed softly. “Oh, such sweet naivety! You really thought I wouldn’t notice what you were trying to do, child?”
Astarion rose from his seat. “With all due respect, I have no idea what you mean, master.” He lied smoothly.
“Don’t you?” Cazador chuckled, tilting his head slightly. “Your lack of respect is too obvious to miss, sweet one.”
Astarion didn’t reply. And yet, he dared to look away from them. Away from his own family! His gaze was firm.
It was a challenge. So Astarion didn’t intend to be obedient? Fine. Cazador didn’t have to be tender.
“Soon, Dufay will give you some information about the banquet itself. Including such things as a list of people you are allowed to speak to, tips on proper behavior, etcetera.”
“A list of people who I can talk to. Good to know that I’m allowed to speak at all, master.” Astarion spat out, arms crossed.
And then – a hit. Cazador struck him. Across the face. In front of his siblings. A clear reminder of his place. Astarion had done this to himself. Ungrateful child. He had so many privileges! And yet? He still acted like some unruly brat!
“I’m sure that your ‘partner’ will look exquisite with a few bruises on his face.” The spawn muttered. And got another hit. He deserved it.
Then – laughter. Petras.
“You dumb bitch!” The well-known vulgarity only made the moment more grotesque. “You won’t get out of this by taking a beating! You’ll sit there, where master wants you, even if it means that you will be naked. Hells, I bet some aristocrats would pay a fortune to–”
“Brother…” Aurelia hissed, clearly kicking him under the table. “Shut up!”
“But he is right” Violet added, shrugging. Then she plucked a stray hair from a sleeve of her dress and let it fall to the floor.
Cazador swirled his goblet of blood, a smirk playing on his lips. He simply sat there, listening, as if their conversation was nothing more than an amusing melody.
“Can I just have the damn rat already, master?!” Astarion snapped, wanting them all to stop. His shoulders were slightly trembling with emotions.
“If Petras is willing to share with you” The vampire lord replied, tossing the animal onto the table so that it landed neatly before the mentioned spawn.
Petras was the last person who would share anything with Astarion – everyone knew that. It didn’t matter that he had already been given one rat, and Astarion – none.
Astarion probably made the wisest decision by sitting back at the table. He cast them all one last look – burning with hatred – before lowering his gaze to the floor. Like a beaten dog.
“Come here, Astarion” Cazador said. He liked the boy obedient.
Astarion stood up once more and approached the owner of this palace.
Szarr pointed to his lap. Astarion hesitated for a fleeting second, considering refusing. But then… he obeyed – visibly not liking it at all.
Cazador’s fingers combed through his spawn’s silver curls, slow and deliberate. Then, he leaned in closer.
The younger vampire squeezed his eyes shut, his breath hitched. He was afraid. He thought that his master is trying to kiss him. Roughly. Violently. Probably with a tongue. But… it never came.
“My dear Astarion” Cazador whispered straight to the boy’s ear; his voice a silken thread, meant only for his pointy ears alone. “I don’t want you to sleep with anyone at the banquet. Or after it.” It wasn’t a request, nor a plea. It was a firm order.
“I don’t want it either. I never did.” Astarion hissed quietly. There, in his glazing scarlet eyes were so many memories; deep hidden. “If that’s true, master, then don’t let them do so!” There, just beneath his bright eyelashes, flickered the faintest shimmer of tears… But he didn’t cry.
“I won’t.” Cazador said. It sounded almost like a promise.
Astarion didn’t believe him; even if he didn’t say it aloud. The vampire lord saw it in his eyes. But not only this. He was nearly sure that something in Astarion’s expression changed for a second – as if he wanted it to be true.
“Leave now, Astarion” Cazador commanded, breaking the silence that had managed to settle between them. This time, his voice was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “I want to speak with your brothers and sister some more.”
“As you wish, master.” Astarion replied, with no emotions; his mask beautifully flawless – a mask that only Cazador could see through. It was beautiful, but… deep, too.
He will die someday. He is here now, but he will be gone. And that is beautiful. Cazador thought, watching as his spawn leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. He will die, so that I may live forever. To ascend. To become the Vampire Ascendant. The most powerful vampire to have ever existed. But… he will be gone.
The other six was whispering something among themselves – something useless, something irrelevant. They were not like him. Different. Lesser. Cazador didn’t feel a thing looking at any of them: even at Leon, who was the most loyal one, the one that he had always referred to as ‘favorite spawn’.
Maybe, after all, the real favorite had another name: Astarion.
“He will look for some ways to avoid it, no doubt.” Cazador said, with a calm face, his voice smooth and unbothered as ever. “Report to me any attempts. And don’t let him make himself unpresentable.”
“Do you think that he’s foolish enough to hurt himself just to avoid the banquet, master?” Asked Petras, clearly amused about the imaginary. And yet, he was the one who had told Astarion that such attempt leaded to nowhere. A pity. There is no worse bluff than the one that its creator unmasks.
“I think” Cazador’s gaze sharpened. “that you shouldn’t let him make himself unpresentable.” He staring Petras down, his tone colder now.
Which meant yes.
“If you will fail, I will have you all flayed.” A brief pause. And a smirk. “Including Astarion, of course. So I suggest you watch him carefully.”
A brie silence fell over the room before another voice cut through it.
“Master, may I ask a question?” Cazador turned his gaze toward Yousen, who had been sitting quietly until now.
“You may.”
“Why Astarion? He’ll most likely ruin everything.”
Cazador chuckled.
“I assure you, he won’t.”
“He probably doesn’t even know how to dance properly – with a real aristocrat, not some drunk invited noble.” Yousen muttered. “Dalyria can. Or Violet can. Leon can…” He started to list out.
“Are you questioning me?!” Cazador’s voice rose sharply, cutting him off. He was in charge there. He was the law! His eyes gleamed dangerously.
“I wouldn’t dare, master.” Yousen lowered his gaze.
“And for your information” Cazador continued smoothly, calm once more. “He can dance.” He really can. So beautifully. I remember him dancing then, in the rain, wrapping his arms around my neck. Silver hair drenched. Laughter slipping past his lips. We had more than any of you could imagine. Before any of you were even turned. Before he was forced to be mine. When he chose to be.
“Astarion will be the one, because I said so” Cazador declared, his voice final, with no room for discussion. “That alone should be enough for you.”
None dared to argue (perhaps because Astarion was no longer present).
“What should we call you at the banquet, master?” Leon asked, always wanting to be prepared. Always the obedient one. That was a smart question. A necessary one.
Their true identities would be hidden. Their master – Cazador Szarr, almighty aristocrat – would not be introduced as a vampire lord, and they wouldn’t be his spawn.
At past events, they had played different roles – his beloved children, his devoted servants, even his private exclusive courtesans (Astarion had hated the last version the most).
“My lord” Cazador explained. “You will presented as my close servants once again.” Then, his smirk sharpened. A smile, but that was anything but warm “Expect for Astarion, of course.”
Chapter Text
Astarion walked into the dormitory, shutting the door behind him with more force than necessary.
“I hate him!” He hissed under his breath. “I hate him so much…”
Tears burned at the corners of his crimson eyes, unwanted and infuriating. No. He would not cry! He was not weak! Anything but weak.
He sat down on his bed – the lower bunk. Usually, he shared the bed with Dalyria (they switched places sometimes, not wanting to live in a dead routine, so this month it was his part on the lower place for sleeping).
Pale hands gripped the sheets. Why couldn’t Cazador just leave him alone?!
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a slow, steady breath. The fire inside dulled. Then, as his mind finally settled with a calm, an idea came over. Maybe this wasn’t a sentence yet… Maybe he could do something about it… But what? Had very few choices and even fewer that wouldn’t bring punishment... He just wanted to avoid pain… But… what if the perfect clothes, selected by Cazador for him, were to get damaged?
The spawn imagined himself destroying the clothing. Tearing it up, into pieces. And even a faint smile appeared on his lips. But then cruel reality intruded, shoving him another image. Far worse… Szarr’s punishment for every single cut strand. What if his stupid brother was right, and Cazador would make him participate in the banquet naked? It wasn’t impossible. And if he did…
No… Astarion could already picture the eyes on him. All the horny gazes on his body… The hunger. The whispered filth. The things they would assume about him… about what he ‘was’ there for. It couldn’t be like that. He couldn’t let it happen. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. The clothing were to remain perfect.
He couldn’t avoid the banquet. Two hundred years in this fucking palace taught him that there was no escape; even from one event – such as the damned party.
Also, Astarion was more than sure that Cazador considered him disobedient. Probably even his master was ready for some opportunities – including scenario with torn clothes… That only meant that in this case, Szarr was already two steps ahead, making sure that his silver-haired spawn had no chance for winning.
But… Astarion was aware what hadn’t been considered by Cazador. He could improve his dancing skills. He could make some preparations and exercises before, by himself. Cazador wouldn’t be moved, caughting him at some negative acts (as escape attempt or damaging anything connected to the banquet), but he wouldn’t be able to stand, seeing how perfect Astarion made himself! He will see. He will see that Astarion is more than he thinks of him. That, of course, he makes mistakes, but he also can be the best!
_ _ _
Astarion walked into the grand ballroom. This is where it would happen. The damned banquet, founded by a vampire lord that almost all the invited crowd (expect from those, who also were vampires in fact, or ‘friends’ of Cazador – the fucker had no friends, no need to make illusions, just partners in some businesses) saw as perfectly normal wealthy aristocrat from Baldur’s Gate. They all would be just here – hundreds of people, perhaps. But for now, the room was still. So quiet. So peaceful… It felt like nothing could disturb it. Maybe there still was some beauty in this cold world…? Somewhere deep, hidden beneath all these bruises and scars. Beneath order and mess… Beneath obedience and rules… Somewhere where only silence could lead him… Where only his crooked heart still could reach…
The silver-haired turned his close gaze to musicians’ platform, in the corner, where instruments laid waiting to be played. Soon, these empty cold walls would be filled with music. With grandeur.
The spawn stepped toward the piano. A memory surfaced – one he hadn’t meant to summon. Not now. Not ever. Cazador could play the instrument. He played this black, expensive piano – so old that nearly ancient. Always the same… Always able to make the pure sound, encouraged by taps of his slim fingers – the same fingers that could hurt Astarion with no hesitation… It was hard to believe, but Cazador did play – his hand moving effortlessly. Not at events. Never at banquets, no matter how important. But sometimes, in rare moments, the vampire lord would simply sit and play: as if not the act itself mattered, but the moment that always came within.
Not so long ago – a tenday or two – Astarion had heard him again. A quiet melody drifting through the halls. He had fled before his master could realize that someone had been listening. Cazador played either for himself or for no one – and Astarion never knew which option was further to the truth. The last time Cazador had deliberately played with an audience had been two hundred years ago. Back then, Astarion had been beside him, sitting on the twin stool (Astarion couldn’t even remember now what had happened with the piece of furniture; now, it was only one seat there). Humming along, improvising lyrics, trying to find funny words to the melody; making a joke of the song. They both had laughed then. They had fun. It was such a good time… But that was over now. And nothing could change that. Nothing could bring back what was lost.
Astarion exhaled slowly, looking around the ballroom. He wiped away tears from his eyes. Something must have gotten there: a small piece of dust or something like that. But there was no dust there. No dust in the whole palace. Perfect servants kept the place in perfect condition. But that didn’t matter. He ignored a faint heart pang in his chest. His heart was dead! He was a vampire. Some said that vampires didn’t feel anything. He shouldn’t be sentimental.
And yet, he stood in the middle of the ballroom. He would be introduced as Cazador’s partner. It would be best if Szarr simply let him sit beside him at the table and do nothing. But that wasn’t going to happen. Cazador would demand that he participate – play his part. And he could not fail.
Astarion placed his hands on his hips. Then, he took a step forward. And another, turning to the side. Then the same motion again, but with the other leg. And again, now softer. Flawless. The empty ballroom transformed into a stage. A training ground, just for him. Astarion danced, imagining a group of unseen musicians, providing him a delicate melody. He pictured himself draped in fine clothing, worthy of Lord Cazador Szarr’s partner. Then, with crimson eyes closed, he imagined he was not alone. Every gaze – filled with pure admiration – was on him.
He approached a beautiful chair with golden carvings. His hand brushed over its smooth surface as he turned around it, as if it was his partner in the dance. After a few more graceful spins, he shifted his weight onto his imaginary partner’s arm, preparing to leap with a flawless spin. But – of course – the chair lacked the grace and balance of a living person.
A crash. The piece of furniture – now becoming back just a worthless thing – toppled over. And so did Astarion. At least the chair remained undamaged – it surely costed a fortune…
But… Pain shot through his arm as he hit the ground. It hurt… It hurt so much. He felt tears gathering up at the corners of his eyes. He knew the sensation. This kind of pain. He had just broken his arm. And – as if that wasn’t enough – he heard the quiet squeak of a door. Door to Cazador’s office. Oh, shit…
Astarion stood up immediately, grabbing the fallen chair, to place it as if the fall never happened. But he knew better than to hope that Cazador wouldn’t notice anything off… His very presence was really problematic… How in the sweet hells, was he supposed to explain this?!
Cazador raised his brow, looking straight at him. With no compassion nor mercy. He crossed his arms on his chest.
”I suggest you explain yourself. Immediately. Or shall just already assume that you were trying to ruin something, as always?”
“Master…” Astarion stood frozen. The broken arm hurt so much… He was sure that there was no purpose in hiding it. Cazador would find it out, sooner or later. “I broke my arm.” He finally admitted, keeping his gaze on the floor. “I didn’t mean to, I swear…”
A chuckle. Loud, mocking chuckle. Cazador clapped his hands few times, making in fake applause.
“Bravo! I expected many things from you, but self-mutilation wasn’t one of these!” The vampire lord slightly turned his head to a side. “You are even more stupid than I thought. No self-protection instinct? You are pathetic.” A fake smile disappeared within a second. Now, his tone was deadly-serious. “To the Kennels.”
“Master. Please! I really didn’t mean to-” Astarion started, but Szarr didn’t want to hear any excuses. He grabbed his spawn by his silver curls, and tugged forcefully, pushing all his body towards the door.
“To the Kennels!” He shouted.
Astarion felt himself flinching. It was so hard to stand on the shivering legs… To keep balance… To keep vision clear, not letting the damned tears to gather up in the corners of his scarlet eyes. But the fear and control were stronger than anything. Eventually, the spawn was on his way to the torture room, mumbling apologies under his nose: for himself or for Cazador. It didn’t matter. None listened to it.
Time was so fast once more… In the very next moment they were in the Kennels. The two and Godey.
Cazador made a small gesture. Astarion knew its meaning. He was ordered to stay by the wall. So… So he did. What choice did he have?
“Which arm did you broke yourself?” Cazador asked. He knew the answer. It could be seen without slightest doubt. Though, he wanted Astarion to say it out loud.
“My left one, master.” The spawn replied quietly.
“Godey. Break him the other one.”
“No! Master, please! How will I dance for you? I beg you!” Astarion cried out. He held the healthy arm by his chest, tugging it to himself, as if it could change anything. “Please!”
But Cazador didn’t reply. He peacefully watched as his sadistic ass-licker approaches the spawn – the spawn trembling from coldness, pain and fear – and he takes his pale arm, forcing him to straighten it in elbow, only to hit it with a wooden club.
Next, there were two loud noises. The sound of breaking bones and cry of pain. No. Not only the two. More. There was also a sound of knees hitting the stone floor, not being able to keep the weight of the body any longer. And the hollow, grating laugh of the fucking skeleton, showing only proud and satisfaction.
“That’s perfect, Godey.” Cazador claimed. Astarion’s brain didn’t register the moment when he came closer, but the younger vampire surely noticed his master, standing just next to him.
“What was its worth, my child?” Asked Szarr, poking the spawn on the floor with the tip of his elegant, expensive boot.
“I was trying to dance, master. To be perfect. Isn’t it what you wanted?” Astarion replied, with a dose of bitter in his voice.
“Dance?” Cazador laughed at that. “Your excuses are usually more sophisticated. Or at least more plausible.” He walked a few steps away from his spawn – either as if he wanted to see him more clearly or simply because he loathed him. Then, Szarr continued. “Perfection.” A pause, meant to savor the three syllables. “Such a strong world, don’t you think so? You poor thing… The truth is that you have no idea what perfection is.”
Astarion stayed silent, looking at him. At his crimson eyes, with no mercy. No compassion. At his face that he couldn’t read.
“You may return to the dormitory now. After all, you will be at my side on the banquet.” Cazador informed lightly, as if he was offering a kindness. Astarion’s breath hitched. What?! How was he supposed to stand? To dress? To serve? To dance? His arms were broken. Useless.
And the vampire lord didn’t care. He simply turned and left, leaving Astarion alone with Godey.
The spawn tried to stand. It was so hard… The first time, he failed.
“Need a hand, doggy?” The skeleton asked mockingly.
“Fuck off.” Astarion muttered, too tried for anything sharper (maybe Godey wouldn’t even understand anything clever, with that empty skull of his). Then, he forced himself upright. He wanted to slam the sadistic bastard against the wall, but it would require a working hand, and at least some bravery and stamina for facing the consequences. So Astarion did nothing more. He went on the corridor, just to stand before closed door to the dormitory wing. If the door was ajar… But the world wasn’t kind. It wasn’t colorful. It wasn’t even black and white. Only black.
Chapter Text
When Cazador left the Kennels, he decided to change his plans a little. He had meant to go to the underground chapel. To write or read something... But once he was just next to the door to his ballroom, he changed direction, taking the opposite way. He walked out of the palace. And he found himself on the Lower City's central wall.
From up here, there was an undeniable feeling of power. As if all the city was his own. It will be. Soon enough. He just needed to wait a little more. He already had such a big influence – it was only to extend it now.
The banquet was an excellent idea! All the aristocrats would see how magnificent he was. All the cattle should understand who was meant to rule that small world of theirs.
He breathed in the sweet night air. It was a wonderful moment. Then, his thoughts wandered to Astarion. His oldest spawn. He had gotten a lesson today. He would behave, wouldn’t he?
Cazador knew what it would be like. All the eyes will be on Astarion. Everyone will be stunned. The boy was beautiful. Graceful. Of course, Cazador wouldn't tell him that – it would destroy everything as there weren't many things higher than Astarion's ego.
But the fact was that he – indeed – was excellent. He wasn't perfect. But... But Cazador knew that he wanted him by his side more than anyone else. More than the obedient children. They weren't him.
Enough. He felt nothing towards that disobedient, selfish boy. He shouldn't be worrying. He was nothing. Nothing! What a stupid waste of time! This boy had no respect for him. Not even a shred. Why would he be good for him, gaining nothing in return?
Cazador exhaled. He was tired and irritated. He rubbed his tired eyes with his hand, then he opened the door to his palace. There was a servant, wiping dust from painting. Perfect.
"Go to the dormitory and call Dalyria. I want to see her right this moment, on the wall, just before the front door." He said coldly. Then, he returned to the spot before the palace, closing the door behind him, not waiting for the response. He knew that his order would be done exactly as it should be. No one in this place fared not to listen to him. Almost no one. Astarion was arguing. Resisting. He needed the most firm hand to do anything at all. And the situation has been like that for the past two hundred years. And before...? Before, he needed no orders. He would smile a little and ask, if Cazador wanted him to help him with anything. Not demanded. Just... Wanted. And the response was 'no, everything is fine' then.
The door had been flung wide open. The vampire lord immediately looked in that direction. For a second the pupils of his eyes widened a bit. A white–haired person arrived, bowing before him. One of his spawn. Tall. Rather pretty. Could it be…? No. Of course not. It was only Dalyria. He couldn’t even remember her name at first. As if only him mattered.
"You called me, master." She said.
Of course. She wasn't him. Her hair that he saw with the corner of his eye in the first moment was white, not silver, like Astarion's. And she hadn't given him the hatred look. She was afraid, and she hadn't tried to hide it that much like he would. He didn't lift her chin, looking into his eyes. She kept her gaze on the stone floor, not daring to raise her red eyes – eyes that weren't a pair of glazing ruby stones.
"Where is Astarion?" He asked.
"In the dormitory. He had just arrived there before I left." She said.
"Did he say something?"
Dalyria hesitated for a moment. Then, he replied. Slowly. Unsure how to put into words what was on her mind. "Yes. He said that... That he hated you, master. And had no regrets. I don't know what he was talking about, as he hadn't mentioned it. And... he also said that he hadn’t known that there was a punishment for trying to make you proud. His words. Should I continue it, master?"
Cazador chuckled with dry amusement. How very bold of him. Was Astarion challenging him? Probably. Fine. He would take the glove. Accept the challenge. "Yes. I'll gladly hear more, child." He said.
"He asked me to heal him. His arms." She didn't mention that they were broken. It was obvious that he had the knowledge. Only he was in charge there. Only he could punish spawn whatever and whenever he liked. "But I couldn't do that." Dalyria seemed sorry about it. Perhaps more sorry than Astarion himself. "I didn’t have your permission to do so."
"Did he tell you that he broke one of his arms? Himself. Godey helped him with the other." Cazador smiled. The power thrilled him.
"No. He didn't, master." She replied. Her expression showed shock. She probably wondered, why her brother did that. It was rather obvious though. The silver-haired one was making a fool of himself again.
"Do you think that I should heal him?" Cazador asked. He was curious about her response. Whose side would she take?
"Whatever you decide, master" The girl replied. Clever. But it was not enough. Not satisfying.
"And if it depended on you?"
"I would heal him. The pain of breaking a bone is enough punishment, I think. And he should be available at the banquet. To serve you, of course, master." She ensured.
Cazador nodded slightly. Not quite showing that he agrees, but that he keeps that in mind. "Did he say something more? Something important?"
She was speechless. For a moment, she seemed unsure, wondering if she missed something. Then, she shook her head. "No." She added. "There was a small argument between him and Petras, but beside that, nothing else happened."
"I see." Szarr said. "You may go."
She bowed once more. Then, she left. And there he was, alone once more. Above the city of Baldur's Gate. In charge. Perhaps, he could do the favor and fix the bones. But – on the other hand – his oldest child could never appreciate it.
His gaze stopped on the night sky, full of stars, shining from the above. And he made the decision. The boy would get his mercy, even if he didn't deserve it. The following day he would see his kindness.
– – –
The door to Kennels shut open. And there he was. Astarion, pushed there by his loyal servant – Godey. The silver-haired one managed to keep his balance. Hardly – but yet – there he was, standing just before him – Lord Cazador Szarr of Baldur's Gate.
He looked exactly like Cazador imagined he would present: trembling a little. Trying to find the most comfortable way to stand; to keep his arms secure. He was terrified.
"How did you sleep?" Asked the vampire lord. Deliberately, with calm expression.
"Awfully." Astarion spat. He probably wanted to end the sentence there, but something – perhaps his fear – caused a moment of hesitation. And so he added. "Master." Then, his gaze stopped on the cold floor. The one that he knew so well. The one that he was lying on for full hours.
"Wondering why." Said Godey and chuckled with pure amusement. He was the only one who laughed at the joke. Cazador kept his face unreadable. Full of control. And Astarion? If he was in better condition, he would probably try to attack the skeleton. And fail, no doubt. A shame that he was unavailable to do so for the moment. Good for him, but it would definitely be a moment of amusement.
"On your knees." Cazador ordered coldly.
Astarion kept his mouth closed. For a moment, his grinned teeth were visible. His bare fangs. But he managed not to say a word. For now.
It was amusing: looking at him as he was fighting with himself. With his huge ego. With his flaming pride. A moment longer and he wouldn't be able to keep that faint calm.
"Your hands." Cazador said shortly. He himself stood before him, with his arms in front of him, waiting for the spawn's pair.
Astarion did it slowly. His arms were shaking. In his crimson eyes there were glazing tears, nearly falling down, to his face. Through his mask of faint fake smile, Cazador could clearly see expression of pain.
Astarion laid his trembling arms into Cazador’s waiting hands. He closed his eyes, bracing for agony. For humiliation. For anything but… kindness.
Cazador knew what he could do. Anything. There were so many options. To clench his own fists, and make the boy scream. Or to send some electric impulse through the trembling hands of Astarion. But instead, he used another kind of magic. Pleasant. Not harmful but the opposite. Healing.
Astarion immediately looked at him, not even trying to hide his shock. He felt his body being regenerated. The pain faded like mist under the sun, and something colder replaced it – confusion, disbelief… hope? The pure sensation. The relief. All of these could be read from his face.
"Thank you, master." He whispered. Quietly. Barely audible. Yet, honesty. He was surprised, in a surprisingly positive way.
"Don't have some illusion of it. I shouldn't be so gracious – especially towards you. If I didn't need you, I wouldn't care at all."
"I understand it, master." Astarion said. Then, he slowly lifted his hands. Clenched and unclenched his fists. Did some movements. On his face appeared a smile. "Thank you." He replied. He was grateful. It was one of the rare moments when he could appreciate something. It showed how weak he was. He lasted only a day in such condition – and it was enough for him to be such a calm lamb.
"But don't think that it's over. If you won't satisfy me on the banquet, I'm breaking these limbs of yours once again, just after the event. Is it clear?" Cazador hissed.
"Yes, master. Of course. I won't fail you."
Cazador smiled. It was a promise. Promise of keeping his word. To fulfill the promise: whether it would be pleasant for the spawn or not.
"Come closer." It wasn't a suggestion, but an order. Stern. The kind that no one could argue with.
The silver-haired one approached without an extra sentence, nor even a word. Good. At least he could behave.
Cazador looked straight into these well-known eyes. He could look into them the whole eternity. Stunning. Beautiful.
A moment of silence. Then, Astarion couldn't take it any longer. His lips parted slightly.
Cazador forcefully tugged some of these silver curls, making the boy lean closer. The gap between them has been closed. Their faces met. One pair of lips pressed into another. And the time stopped, held in the space between shock, submission, and… something unspoken that burned between them.
Chapter Text
Astarion stood before two of his siblings: Dalyria and Leon. He spun around and smiled. Widely. With grace. Falsely, of course. But no one could really tell that he wasn't happy nor satisfied to be at Cazador's side.
"And?" He asked. "How do I look? Be my mirror, dear brother and sister."
"Good." Leon said. Short, but honest.
"Such a comprehensive reply. Anything more? Dal?"
"You look really good. Like a prince."
"Oh, so you think that I am handsome?" He grinned.
Dalyria nodded.
"Indeed. Isn't that what everyone keeps saying?"
"It is." Astarion said, with pride in his voice. Though, he was wondering if it was true... The fact was that he hadn't seen himself since he was turned into that damned monster.
"So you should trust them, brother." Leon suggested. It was polite advice – and he seemed to genuinely believe it. But Astarion gave him a faint smile, just out of his kindness. However, he knew better. There would be no trusting. Anyone. Not ever again.
They probably would be forced to share such compliments if not the arrival of a servant that took place in the very next moment.
"Mister Leon. Miss Dalyria." The servants' tone was rather polite. "Lord Szarr wants to see you in the ballroom as soon as possible. And Mister Astarion...?" There was an audible change in his voice. All the kindness seemed to be gone... Cazador's orders. Astarion had no doubts.
"Yes, darling?" The eldest of the spawn grinned, showing his teeth and 'accidentally' baring fangs sharp as razors.
"The lord has a message for you."
"A message? Am I not important enough for him to tell me that by himself? How tactful." That comment has been ignored. The servant pulled out the message: a neatly folded piece of paper, and he passed it to Astarion, saying no more.
Leon and Dalyria walked out of the room.
"Have fun, dear siblings." Astarion said. A bit unkind, particularly sassy. Audiences with their master never were pleasant.
They didn't give him any response, clearly being exactly aware that he didn't tell it out of his kindness and care.
The room went silent. Still.
Astarion spun the paper in his hands. He didn't want to open it yet... It seemed that until he opens it, the whole letter will mean nothing at all, as if it never existed. But he couldn't just ignore an order. Any order – as it was almost sure that it's an order.
"What do we have here?" Astarion muttered, unfolding the piece of paper. He saw many lines of text – beautiful cursive, with no smirches.
You wear my colors well. I dressed you. Let them see perfection. I will not settle for less. You will be the most envied creature in that room tonight – and you are mine. Smile, Astarion. It suits you better than silence.
Lately, I've seen in you something more than just a toy to play with, Astarion. "Faith”, leaving behind "trust", is a strong word, but I can state that I see an opportunity for you to gain my approval. If you represent me as you should, I can ensure you that I will want to discuss potential profits of the behavior with you. We will sit down at my table – that you probably remember from the past, Astarion – open a bottle of exclusive wine, maybe even have some rather fresh blood and talk. But only if you be successful.
Don't disappoint me, Astarion. After-party doesn't have to be painful. It can be rewarding as well.
He needed to read the line once more, frowning.
His close sight ran through the lines once more. And another time. He didn't even realize that his eyes stopped every time there was his name on the paper. Astarion. Written so beautifully... But, at the same time, every time a bit differently. Uniquely.
Carefully folding the letter, he placed it under his pillow. Maybe – for once – this was something Cazador wouldn’t take from him. Maybe he could keep it for himself...
That was a promise. Promise of something positive. He couldn't lose it. He couldn't let it disappear!
He felt an urge to go to Cazador and talk with him a little. Just the two of them. Peacefully. In private. But... He was well aware that it probably wasn't possible at the moment, as Cazador wanted to see two of his siblings, so he probably was talking to, them just this moment – and, most likely would continue doing this for a moment more.
He walked out of the room, heading to the ballroom. Unfortunately, he has been stopped by a servant. He looked surprised, seeing him there – clearly wasn't prepared for this.
"Mister Astarion." There was a faint accent in his voice, making it harder to understand it. He had a tendency to lengthen the vowels in his sentences, especially in the middle.
"I want to see o—... my master." He hesitated. Started our turned into my. He couldn't explain why he did it, changing it like that. It just... Seemed right.
"I understand." Said the servant carefully. "But lord Szarr wished to speak to you later, on the banquet." Then, after a moment, he added: "Not now" in case it wasn't sure.
"But I need to see him. You should understand it. Really." He said, really wishing that his will would be done.
"No. Sorry." He heard in response, in common-like language that now was nearly dripping with the servant's accent.
"Then give me some paper and ink. I will at least write a letter." He asked. Of course, Cazador wouldn't agree to such a thing, but maybe some new servant from abroad wasn't aware of it.
A moment of silence, then a slight nod.
"Alright. I'll be right back. Please, wait in the dormitory, mister Astarion."
"Thank you." The spawn replied and he gave the servant that pretty, charming smile of his. Better for this young man not to wonder if this is the right choice, and not to have any doubts.
Meanwhile, Astarion realized that despite the fact that this servant was quite new here, he knew his name. Was he so popular in Cazador's estate? Was someone talking about him? Maybe even Cazador...? It was a bit terrifying, but also a bit... satisfying in its own way.
This right back lasted for a longer while than he expected. But, finally, he came back with some half-drained ink, and a quill, which's endings were a bit... off. But – this was better than nothing. And the paper... Well, its quality was rather poor. Probably anything would be better. It looked as if it would tear up into pieces in his hands, right next moment.
"Thank you" Astarion said anyway. Then, he approached a small table that was standing nearby, placed the paper there, dipped the quill in the ink and started to write.
I've been thinking a lot about that message that was brought to be, Master. I know that I am not able to guarantee anything, but I can promise that I'll try not to let you down. I wanted to say that I am grateful. I really am. I still can remember the table mentioned in that letter of yours. It's beautiful, from an oak tree. We'll talk there, Master, once the banquet will be over.
He waited a moment for the ink to dry. Then, he took the paper, and – once he was sure that ink is dry, by touching it carefully, with the very end of his finger – he folded it in half, and then again in half.
"Could you bring it to the master?" He asked the same servant.
"Now...?"
No. Tomorrow. He was about to hiss, but he resisted, being aware that there was a chance that the servant could just get nervous and disagree for all of this, so he decided to act kind.
"Yes. If you could." He replied instead, giving him dazzling smile that was enough to distract from any suspicion.
"But I can't... I need to wipe the dust away and..." He started.
"Don't bother your head with that, darling" Astarion said sweetly. "I can do that for you. We can make a small deal. You will do me a favor, and I will do something for you."
That seemed to be satisfying for the man. He slightly shook his head in silent agreement. Then, he left.
Astarion took the rug and turned several times between his fingers. Truth to be told, he didn't mean to do any cleaning here. If Cazador saw any dust at all, he could as well clean his damn palace by himself.
But... The time was passing, and the servant wasn't returning. It started to be highly irritating – especially considering the fact that he was still holding the damned, a bit dirty piece of material as if he was some maid.
No. A moment more was enough. He threw the rug away. It landed on the table, just by the vase that still was a bit dusty. Who cared?
Astarion came back to the dormitory. He read the letter again.
"My master... Please..." He whispered. To no one particular. To himself. "Why don't you let me go to that fucking ballroom already? Is it a secret? What is the subject that is meant for everyone's ears, but mine?"
He lied on the bed. And closed his eyes. Just for a moment. For a while.
– – –
A cold voice cut through the quiet. "Guests will be here soon."
Astarion opened his eyes immediately, as he heard the familiar voice. Cazador's voice.
"Was I in trance?" Astarion asked, blinking in surprise. Then, not waiting for any response, he added. "I didn't even realize it, master."
"You were. And you’ve made a mess of your clothes." Cazador said coldly. He clearly wasn't proud of it. "Not even mentioning your hair."
The silver-haired one automatically brushed his hair with his fingers.
"I'll look presentable, master." Astarion muttered, standing up. Or rather – intending to stand up. A pair of strong arms got him in the middle of the movement and forced him back down. But this time not on the bed. On laps.
"Now you look even more beautiful, you know." Cazador claimed, looking straight into his eyes.
Astarion couldn't resist an urge to look back into his eyes.
"Do you still like me like this, master?" He asked, a bit uncertain. There was a flicker of insecurity in his voice. "Unprepared. With hair in mess."
"Yes, my child." Cazador replied. And there was no false in his voice – at least not audible. "You look like that every morning. And also, after sex."
When he said it, Astarion felt that his cheeks blushed a bit. Though, Cazador was completely unmoved. As if he was talking about weather.
"Then, maybe I should stay like that a little longer? Not fixing my hair" Astarion said in a flirty tone, tugging his hands around Cazador's neck.
"You're imagining things, child. Get ready. We're starting soon."
Astarion nodded. But before he said anything in return, Cazador added:
"I received that letter from you."
He didn't ask, where the spawn found paper and ink. He didn't ask, why it was written. No. The answers were easy. Obvious. But the not obvious thing was the fact that Cazador actually got it. And read it.
And he kept it.
Astarion blinked. He wanted to ask: And…? Did you like it? But he remained silent. Instead, he only lowered his faze, muttering:
“Thank you for reading it.” And nothing more. As he should. After all, Cazador was his master.
Szarr’s fingers trailed down his spine. The touch was too firm to be comforting, and too possessive to be gentle.
“I read every word. Even the ones you didn’t write.” That made Astarion look up again, as Cazador was continuing. “You want more.”
The silver-haired one swallowed.
“Yes, master.”
“Then give them a reason to envy me tonight.”
It was a command. But… Astarion could hear – and even feel – the beauty that came with it.
Astarion looked into his eyes. What about giving you some reason to think about the past? He thought. And… He realized how familiar that scarlet gaze was. How close… Breath-taking. Almost welcoming. Just… ideal.
He moved slightly, closing the gap between them. He kissed Cazador. And... The vampire lord didn't push him away. Maybe that was just the demonstration of his power. Of control. Maybe that was just adventurous moment that didn't mean a thing. But... It was pleasant to imagine that there is something more among them. That they once more could pretend to be... together.
"I'll do my best. I promise, master." Astarion ensured. Then, he stood up. And went away. He wasn't sure if he could stay here after what he did. If he stayed, his heart – even if dead – would be torn into pieces. Or would burn with living flames. And that... That was something that he wasn't ready for. Not yet.
He raised his gaze, only to realize that he was already there. Just before the grand ballroom.
Don't disappoint me.
He exhaled. It will be perfect. It must be. Then, they will sit at the oaken table, with candles. And talk about whatever Cazador wanted.
And then... His heart will beat once more.
With that thought, Astarion smiled a bit. Truly. And he entered the ballroom.
Chapter Text
Cazador was sitting on his throne-like chair: full of ornaments and deliberately bigger than any other chair in the ballroom. He knew exactly what he looked like. Everyone who was looking at him could only think of a sovereign. A magnificent lord. Excellent. As it should be.
He could feel the power that came within. And so he adored every moment of it. The respect of others. The authority.
Nevertheless, he wasn't the centre of attention. The most powerful? Indeed. With the most influence? Of course. The most important. But, the biggest gathering wasn't around him. Instead, everyone's eyes were kept on his consort. His oldest spawn. Astarion.
That decision was right. An idea to present that boy as his partner. It was like wearing a ring or necklace with the shining diamond. Something that everyone envied. And all the interest only made the owner someone unique and powerful. Someone worth knowing. No one else had him. And that's why it was so important that Astarion couldn't sleep with anyone that night: just to prove that no one else could touch him. That he was only Cazador's. Others could look at him and think that he would never be in their reach.
And that was the only reason. Ostentation of power and prosperity. Nothing more. Cazador didn't care about Astarion's feeling nor his thoughts. All that mattered was that the spawn presented excellent. He was his master. He didn't care about Astarion's gentle smiles. About his peeking on him, as if the boy checked if he is acting good enough. About his soft chuckle – even if fake, only to entertain the quest. About his piercing eyes, that looked as stars that had been dipped in crimson sea. No. He didn't care at all. So...
Why did he even notice all the details?
It was surely a coincidence. It must have been one. Well – there was no other options.
Cazador returned to reality. He nearly rolled his eyes. What was he even thinking about? As if there were no other subjects than his most unruly and disobedient child!
And what was the commotion about? Everyone seemed to have a question or two to the boy. And he, with a fake, yet wide and elegant smile, kept answering them all.
Cazador was observing. He didn't feel as if the silver-haired one stole the evening and the following night. But, in fact, it... It was strange. As if he saw a poem that he hadn't seen in years, but remembered every line of it. After all, they were together once...
No. Such a stupidity! If it were a true love, it wouldn't burn out. It would last. It would be eternal.
And then... A question from one of the group gathered around Astarion.
"What do you love the most in lord Cazador Szarr?"
And… All the room seemed to go still for a moment. Everyone was longing for the reply as… as for the sentence on a courtroom. Such a sweet irony!
The unexpected quiet, born from curiosity of gathered nobles, has been destroyed by Astarion. By his sweet voice.
"For his intelligence. His authority. His planning-in-advance..."
Cazador felt something moving deep inside him. Why would Astarion tell such things? Why wouldn't he just say what everyone could? Give that ordinary reply, as: beauty soul and mind or something common? Something that everyone could say about anyone... Why was he being honest instead?
"I love him for who he is."
The surrounding loved that reply. But Cazador himself...? He didn't know what to do with this. He wanted to praise and flay Astarion for this in the same moment.
The silver-haired spawn looked at him. And there, in the deep crimson eyes of the boy, the vampire lord could see a speechless confession: I loved you, you know? I really did.
And the gaze was turned back. As if all of his being added: But it's over now.
Love. Such a bunch of lies! If it truly was love, it wouldn't hurt. Yes, it hurt. That meant only one thing. Astarion – his spawn – disobeyed. He did harm to his master. He hurt his cold heart.
Before Cazador realized, Astarion was no more there – in the middle of the ballroom. The vampire lord's close gaze noticed him at long table covered with food. He was drinking some alcohol. Unwise. No matter how much he drank, his thirst remained – an eternal hunger. A curse that no wine could silence. He could only get drunk. Maybe that was exactly the thing that he was trying to do? Get drunk, forget everything and run like that from all the consequences. And not to remember anything connected to that what some might call "love".
No. Why would Szarr let it happen? Why would he free his spawn from grief? Why would he allow him to escape from this?
"I want to speak with Leon." Cazador said to one of his subjects – a young human woman who was just passing by. She nodded and went toward opposite side of the room than the one where Astarion was.
Szarr didn't need to wait for a long time. A moment later there was his youngest child, just before him, bowing in gesture of respect: an act that Astarion deliberately skipped. Why couldn’t his silver-haired child just behave like others? Why couldn't he just stop all of these acts of rebellion? Why was he so unique…?
"You wished to see me, father." Spawn used the title, instead of master. Very good. Cazador expected to change it whenever someone who had no clue of their vampiric nature could hear them.
"Go to Astarion. Tell him that he has drunk enough already. I don't want to see him emptying another bottle." Szarr stated, waving his hand in the direction where his consort was.
"Yes, father."
Just after that, Violet approached him. She came really close. It was rather clear that she wanted to whisper something. A positive fact probably, as there was smile on her face. Good. He didn’t have interest in meeting any stones on his so-far-clear road of the evening.
"I found two victims, master. Can I take them to the guest room? Both are humans, in their thirties. They are each other’s friends. And don't have too many influence. One came here, because his rich boyfriend was invited. Really loyal one, considering the fact that I am more interesting for him." She chuckled, then continued. "The other one is free. He said that I look a bit like his ex-wife. I can't remember what are their last names, so it's probably nothing to worry about. I assume no one will search for them, master."
Cazador smiled a bit with satisfaction. He liked and appreciated usefulness.
"You may take care of them. But before, make sure that the boyfriend of the taken one will notice you kissing with the prey. Ask Petras or someone else, just not Astarion, to help you. Someone will need to talk with that boyfriend. Don't let him follow you, not even mentioning some kind of affair. The best solution would be to encourage him to hate that partner of his. Then, he would wish him all the worst and surely not looking for him. I believe that everything is clear so far."
Violet nodded, with smile that showed her satisfaction. "Yes, Master."
That digression of their went out rather positive. Without problems. Good for the children. They would not want to disappoint him. Probably that daughter will be rewarded soon enough for that initiative. It was a good example for others. They could learn a thing or two from her – especially Astarion. But not now. Now…
“Master!” Cazador felt a hand on his ankle as soon as he heard the lament. “I am so sorry, my master!”
There, at his feet, there was Astarion. Kneeling down before him. Nearly crying. With silver hair in a mess.
Cazador froze, looking around. Fortunately, there was no one but Aurelia who heard it. It was so irresponsible! If anyone heard that title, all the perfect plan could be ruined by Astarion’s stupidity. There would be murmurs. Whispers among nobles. What would that happen? They would wonder – why master? Maybe even that little secret of his would be at risk to be discovered. He couldn’t afford it. Not yet. Not when Baldur’s Gate still had that many heroes who were ready to fight every monster that they would hear about. Of course, he would defeat them in a potential battle, but it would weaken him for some time – and make an easy target from him for his enemies.
“Quiet, dear!” He hissed. It was a threat – but it seemed to have no effect. “Get up from your knees.” He made an order. It was about his authority. No spawn will ruin it!
The silver-haired one stood up, but his arms were down – as if he did something terrible.
“Why are you apologizing?” Szarr asked. It wasn’t a test. It wasn’t one of these usual question that he knew the answer for, but he insisted on spawn to confess fault.
“Because I love you. I love you so much. I want to be with you. But I can’t. I can’t, because I am too afraid.” Astarion said immediately. Words were coming within a pause – one after another. Then, he inhaled, filling lungs with air. Tears started to come down his pale cheeks. “Fuck… I am coward.” He cried. “I was deceiving you for past two centuries. When you told me that what had been between us was over, I said that I knew that. That I agreed. It was a lie! I never could agree with this. Every time when you touch me, I hate you more. And… and learn to love you once more.” He looked straight in Cazador’s eyes. Leon came too late – Astarion was clearly drunk. Of course. No spawn would dare to say such things to their master – even on party, pretending to be that master’s partner. But… Szarr could also notice deep honesty in that two red stars of Astarion.
“So please…” The spawn whispered. “No… I even beg… Let me love you again.”
“You know that I can’t do that.” Cazador said. He was calm, but stern. He pointed on his lap. Astarion sat there, so he could continue. From a side, it looked as if one lover was talking to another. But they could only be a master and his slave. “You are my spawn, Astarion. We talked about this. I made mistake by…” He almost said by loving you. No. He resisted. Of course – it was only a stupid thought. “…by giving you too much affection. I will not repeat that.”
“Then don’t love me back.” Astarion said. He sounded like a little child, that can’t understand a complex problem. As if it was that simple. “Just… let me stay in your chambers… Steal some kisses. Some compliments maybe, when I will be obedient… Just… Please, don’t make me pretend that I feel nothing. We are not that monsters that some see in us. We have feelings. And you know that just as I do, master.”
“I should flay you for that alone.” Cazador muttered, but his fingers brushed that soft, silver hair.
“I won’t remember anything.” Astarion said shrugging. “Maybe that’s why I am so brave.” Then, he looked into his master’s eyes. “Gods, you’re so beautiful…” Then, he chuckled. “That will be brave.”
Cazador knew what he was going to do. Very predictable. And yet, he didn’t stop it. Why would he? After all, it all was to be forgotten, wasn’t it?
Theirs lips met. It was a unique kiss. A nostalgic one…
“I love you.” Astarion whispered somewhere between. His voice vibrated on their mouths, creating rather pleasant sensation.
“Your tears are wasted. We are monsters, Astarion.” Cazador replied. And watched grieve in the boy’s eyes. “But you… You never could be one properly.”
“But… What is the most beautiful, is worth some tears, isn’t it, master?”
“And if I would say that you are allowed to come to my chambers today, but then never again?” Szarr asked.
“So you offer me heaven, then slam the gates shut?” Astarion paused. He noticed a small nod of Cazador’s head. But he didn’t get a verbal reply – after all, he didn’t make his mind. Or at least he didn’t share his decision. “You know I’d say yes. You always knew. I’d treasure every second.”
“Alright, my dove. I’ll have you that last time.”
Astarion laughed. He really did.
“No, my master. You will have me forever, but… just this one last time I’ll have you as well.”
Chapter 11
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Cazador's chamber was elegant. Elegant and peaceful. Dark red curtains that covered ceiling-to-floor windows, were still — only occasionally there was a small movement of them, when wind entered the room through the slightly opened window. Everything was neatly set. Organized.
Arrival of two vampires was in complete contrast with the tidiness of this place. They seemed to be almost like intruders. Lustful. Needy. So… Alive.
They shut the door. And not a moment later, they were on the soft bed. Their lips pressed together. Passionate. Deep. Their mouths connected. And their tongues danced together for a while.
"I miss you already, master." Astarion whispered. "I miss all the kisses that I wouldn't be able to steal from you. And the ones I wouldn't give you."
For the moment, Cazador had a strange feeling. Feeling that he didn't enjoy at all. He was… He was sorry. He looked at Astarion, laying in his bed and his imagination was already giving him pictures of the empty space that won't be filled ever again. He embraced his spawn. His consort for this one day. And… he held him tightly, not wanting to let go.
"Please… I want to be with you…" Astarion whispered. "I don't want to leave. I never wanted… I want to stay with you forever. My master…"
Cazador felt that his spawn's body was trembling against him. "Shhh… Don't make it harder than it should be, pet. It will be just a night of adventurous sex. And nothing more."
"That is what I've always been to you, isn't it? An adventure." There was a grief in the spawn's voice.
Silence. No response. Cazador didn't neglect it. But he also didn't confirm the sentence.
"For me, it was everything." Astarion just said. And he started to undress before Cazador. Szarr was observing the view revealed in front of him. The view that was so familiar. That body he got to know by his sight and by his touch. The ideal curves.
"And now, there's only that one, last night to be together." He let out a sigh, and then, he just opened his legs, inviting Cazador, saying nothing more – just tugging his arms around his master's neck. Though, the gesture was ambiguous — as if the spawn wasn't sure if he wanted to encourage Cazador to enter him or… to just hold him, to be close…
Szarr didn't reply. Not then. Not now. He just undressed himself, saying nothing, taking his time, doing it as he did everything — with grace and composure. Then, he approached Astarion, placing his cold, pale hand on a bare tight.
It was the moment. Two bodies became one. Cazador entered Astarion. The silver-haired one moaned loudly. "Master!" A single tear dropped on the ideal, soft bedding. "Don't abandon me…"
Cazador pressed their lips together once again. It was lustful. It was desperate. Full of unspoken words. It silenced all the words that Szarr hated and loved in the same time.
Astarion lost himself completely in that kiss. He gave in completely, letting Cazador do whatever he wanted.
Cazador started to move. Astarion closed his eyes. His head landed on a soft pillow. It was a heaven. The one that he visited last time…
Then… Somewhere between thrusts, there was a bite. Cazador drank some of his beloved spawn's blood. The sweetest drink that he had ever tasted… He fastened. Astarion was moving his hips, making it even more dynamic. Passionate.
"I am… Ah! I am so close… Master!" Astarion moaned.
"Then go… ahead… “Cazador murmured, being on the edge himself.
Astarion came. On the bedding. On their bodies. The warm liquid could be seen in a few place. Seen and felt.
Then, just a moment later, Cazador came himself. Inside of Astarion, whispering his name — but doing it so quiet that even his partner for the night couldn’t really hear it. Couldn't understand what the small movement of his ideal lips meant. Didn’t notice that moment of the greatest weakness.
Astarion turned around, prepared for another time. Cazador hesitated for a second. He… He didn't want it to go too far. Didn’t want to regret. Had no intention in missing anything, or anyone. For a while, he felt an urge to push Astarion away and lock the door to his chamber. But… After all, it was their last night. And the sun hasn't risen yet.
The next round was a little shorter than the first one. But the third lasted longer. And so did the fourth. They changed positions and speed. There where moans, swears, whispers… Truth and lies, one by one.
Then, after several times, Cazador was really satisfied. He was panting. Astarion, on the other hand, was covered in sweat. And not only sweat. The sperm on his body couldn't be unseen.
"Let's wash it all away." Cazador said. He had no intention in keeping that… substance on him. Before Astarion replied, the vampire lord just lifted him up, holding him bridal style, close to his chest.
Astarion was beautiful… He seemed so delicate in that moment… As if the slightest touch could break him completely.
"Did you enjoy, master?" The silver-haired one asked.
"You were exquisite, my love." Cazador whispered, kissing his temple.
"I tried to be the best. For you."
Cazador walked into a big, wooden bathtub, still holding Astarion. Some water ended up on the floor, as the bath had been prepared for one, not for two. Also, water was everything but warm. It must have gone cold a long time ago — after all, servants thought that he would want to bath just after the banquet. Alone.
"Last kiss?" Cazador asked, holding Astarion's chin so the spawn could look into his eyes.
Astarion gaze became a bit brighter. He gladly pressed their lips together. "I'm looking forward to another last kiss, master." He said.
Szarr wanted to explain that it is really over now. That there will be no more touches. No more sexual acts. No more kisses. But… He… He couldn't. Instead, his hands started to gently wash their bodies. Getting rid of the sperm, sweat and tears.
Finally, they walked out of the wooden bathtub.
"I left my clothing next to your bed, master." Astarion said when he saw Cazador dressing up in his night clothes. Of course, he had only one piece of raiment here.
The vampire lord nodded. They both came all the way back to the bed. Their feet left wet marks on the floor, making temporary path for the two, that wouldn’t be used ever again.
Astarion sat on the bed. Cazador frowned.
"Just for a moment…" The silver-haired one explained. "I… I want to remember that." He tried to make a joke, but… his voice sounded rather… sad.
Cazador sat just next to him.
"If you want to, you can sleep here. The last time. The night isn't over yet."
It wasn't true. Sunlight was already bringing light to Baldur's Gate. But… None of them knew about that. Here, in the Cazador's private chamber with windows covered by dark, long curtains, it didn't matter what time it was.
---
Astarion blinked a few times. All of his muscles hurt. Pain pulsed in his head. His throat was completely dry. But, on the other hand, he was laying among the softest bedding that he had ever touched. It was comfortable. And — he wasn't alone.
A pair of strong arms was holding him as if he was really important. The touch was possessive, but also… nearly protective. A hug that could tell him more than a thousand complicated words. A hug that he knew so well. He was with Cazador.
He felt… Something strange. A warm sensation in his chest. It was Cazador Szarr. His tormentor. His master. His lover.
Astarion didn't remember how it happened nor why they were there together. Probably Cazador just wanted to have him. So he took him. It was surely another brutal night… But… despite the fact that his muscles were aching… it didn't seem to be so… rough. Unpleasant.
No. He had to be imagining things again. Cazador was cruel. Cazador hated him. And last night he was raped. It was better that he didn't remember it.
Cazador moved slightly, murmuring something that couldn't be understood.
"Why am I here? What's happening?" Astarion dared to ask. He moved slightly, getting away from the touch. As soon as he escaped Cazador's arms, he felt… Cold…
The vampire lord frowned. "Didn't you tell me that you have missed my touch? Or that you keep regretting that we aren't so close to each other that we used to be?"
Astarion was speechless. The last thing that he remembered was a bottle of wine that he took on the banquet. And the fact that he poured some of it to a goblet. Nothing else…
Did Cazador lie to him? Why did these words sound like something that he himself could really say if he got desperate? Maybe it was only another trick. Manipulation. But… There was still that strange feeling in his chest. As if his dead heart beat again.
"We had sex, hadn't we, master?" Astarion asked, though it sounded more like a simple statement.
"Indeed."
"Did I say something stupid?"
"You said only stupid things."
Astarion laughed slightly. "I guess that the next time I will try to be better, master." He said.
Cazador looked at him for a moment. The spawn truly didn't remember that night, which meant he didn't remember that it had been their last shared night. Or — that it was supposed to be their last shared night.
"I have no doubts." He said.
"Can I stay here a little longer, master?" Astarion asked, stretching and yawning.
"Yes. The last time." Cazador replied coldly. And then another. He added in his thoughts. Far warmer.
Notes:
Thank you for reading!
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