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Astarion sits in his office, frowning at a book, glancing between crumpled papers on his desk and the hardcover he’s holding. Suddenly, he looks up, giving Venn a stern look as his consort walks into his office unannounced. “You know that I’m busy, Venn.”
Venn only shrugs his shoulders and smiles, staying silent as he slips between Astarion and his desk. He leans back to push the papers he’s reviewing away before climbing into his master’s lap, throwing his arms over Astarion’s shoulders. “Hi.”
“‘Hi,’ my dear,” Astarion replies, a hint of suspicion in his voice, but he still raises a hand to brush a few strands of hair away from Venn’s face, out of his eyes. Venn grins, settling in more comfortably, barely shifting his hips until he finally draws a reaction from Astarion, who lowers his hands to grip his sides, holding him still. “What could possibly be important enough to disturb me?”
“Is it not obvious?” Venn asks, trying and failing to grind down with how harshly he’s been held in place. He meets red eyes with his own, playing with the white hair that curls at the base of Astarion’s neck.
Astarion places his hands on the small of Venn’s back, pulling him closer. “I often wonder if it is you compelling me with how utterly impossible you are to resist.”
“Wouldn’t that be interesting?” Venn laughs, shaking his head. “You don’t want me to get too strong—you once told me the greatest threat to a vampire is another vampire. It’s a blessing that I’m so willingly leashed.”
Astarion’s nails lightly dig into Venn’s back, his smile widening as he leans in close, murmuring against his lips, “That’s right—obedient, loyal, and just powerful enough to be useful.”
“‘Useful,’” Venn mocks, turning his head to kiss Astarion’s cheek and along his jaw down to his neck. “That’s all I am?”
Astarion chuckles, his hands softly sliding along Venn’s sides. “Beloved, beautiful, adored, mine. Clever, terrifying, useful. Take your pick, but you’re much more than just that.”
“What use can I be of today?” Venn asks, playfully nipping at Astarion’s throat. “You know—you haven’t compelled me to do your bidding yet. Why don’t you make me do what you want?”
Astarion pulls Venn away, examining his spawn’s face with intense scrutiny. “Is that what you really want? Complete submission under my control?”
Venn nods, and Astarion gives him a disapproving look until he rolls his eyes and huffs in frustration. “Yes, that’s what I want.”
“Up,” Astarion begins casually, without any fanfare or extra negotiation. He taps Venn’s hip and smiles appreciatively when he stands on his own. Then he tests his spawn’s will with a few simple commands: “Turn around, straddle my lap facing outward.”
When Venn first feels Astarion’s words wash over him, it’s as if he’s been pulled out of his body, yet he can still see through his own eyes, and a chill runs through him. He shivers, muscles moving involuntarily, until he’s exactly where Astarion commanded him to be. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. His words, for now, remain his own.
Astarion smirks at Venn’s involuntary response, wrapping his arms possessively around his waist and pulling him back against his chest. His lips brush Venn’s ear as he whispers another command: “Lift your arms above your head.”
Venn exhales a shaky breath, raising his arms straight up as he’s told. Long before being turned, Venn was often willingly at Astarion’s mercy, obeying his every command without any compulsion needed. A flicker of anxiety strikes him as he realizes he can’t say ‘no’ this time.
“Good,” Astarion whispers approvingly, his fingers intertwined with Venn’s to support his effort to keep his hands up, before gently guiding him to lower his arms again. He leans forward, nuzzling the back of his consort’s neck as he issues his next demand. “You can relax, love. Spread your legs wider.”
Venn moves before Astarion finishes speaking, his brows furrowing at the realization that a verbal demand isn’t needed.
“Such a good little thing,” Astarion murmurs approvingly, leaning back to admire how fully he controls Venn’s body language. “Stand up, pet—remove your clothes.”
Venn feels his body loosen as he realizes he can move again, though not exactly how he wanted. He takes off his shirt, unlaces his pants, and drops his undergarments along with them. He stands up straight, discovering he can look over his shoulder, and catches Astarion eyeing the lines of his naked form.
Astarion leans back, raises a finger, and draws a circle in the air, smiling widely as Venn turns to face him without resistance. He gestures for him to come closer, then raises his hand again to signal Venn to stop once he’s taken a few steps forward.
Venn shivers as he wills himself to take a few more steps, but a sudden jolt of pain stops him. He winces as it hits him, involuntarily taking a shaky breath.
Astarion watches with delight as Venn pushes the boundaries of his control. He laughs mockingly, his amusement growing when his spawn manages to scowl at him. “Come here,” he orders, his voice low. “On your knees in front of me.”
Venn drops quickly, making a pained sound as his knees hit the ground, ensuring he will bruise tomorrow. When Astarion spreads his legs apart, Venn moves closer until his master’s knees flank each side of his head.
Astarion reaches out slowly, his fingers gently gliding through Venn’s hair until he closes his eyes, a shiver running through his body. “Head back,” he snaps, tugging gently even after he complies with the command. He studies Venn’s face intently, a slight smile touching his lips as he relaxes into the touch. “Open your mouth.”
Just as his mouth opens, Venn groans as Astarion slips fingers into his mouth, prying his jaw open further and pressing on his sharp teeth. He senses the slightest slip in Astarion’s control and bares his teeth more, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He snaps his jaw shut, a fang barely piercing the skin of Astarion’s finger; he moans when the blood hits his tongue.
Astarion hisses in pain but watches his spawn calmly, neither pulling away nor commanding Venn to release him, not even as teeth sink deeper into his flesh. He observes with interest, remaining silent until Venn releases him voluntarily. “Ah—there’s my insolent little brat.”
Venn leans forward again, licking and sucking the blood from Astarion’s finger, smiling widely, fangs bared, when he’s satisfied with his success. “Try harder.”
Astarion tilts his head and raises his finger to his mouth to lick the last drop of blood before it hits the floor. He looks at Venn thoughtfully, making a contemplative sound. “You want less control?” he asks, his flat tone gradually unsettling Venn. “Fine.”
“I’m waiting, mast—”
Astarion cuts off Venn’s words with a wave of his hand, shaking his head admonishingly, not wanting to hear his spawn speak up any longer. He leans forward, bringing his face close. “Let’s test something. Yes?”
Venn feels the pressure ease just slightly, and he relaxes when he realizes Astarion is giving him the chance to respond. “Yes,” Venn whispers. “Please.”
Astarion smirks, reaching out to grab Venn by the chin, forcing him to look up. His thumb presses on the tiefling’s bottom lip, parting his mouth slightly. He withdraws his hand, cupping Venn’s cheek soothingly. “Don’t move unless I move you.”
Venn watches as Astarion reaches to undo the snaps on his pants and takes his cock in hand, already fully hard. Despite his command, Venn tries to move again—to get closer, to take him into his mouth—but the painful jolt returns, and he whimpers in discomfort.
“You wanted more from me,” Astarion sneers, pausing to wrap a hand around Venn’s throat and squeeze. “Well—here it is.”
As Astarion’s hand moves to his jaw, Venn wants to lean into the gentler touch, but instead, his mouth is commanded open once more. He obediently sticks his tongue out as Astarion orders him to lick, responding willingly by wrapping his forked tongue around his cock.
Astarion groans softly at the sensation, his hips jerking forward. He stiffens when Venn places his hands on his thighs, squeezing firmly. He swiftly yanks a horn and pulls his head away. “Did I fucking say you could move?”
Venn looks up boldly, sticking out his tongue again until he feels his throat grabbed, the pressure so intense that he immediately panics—but he can’t back away at all.
“One more wrong move and I should snap your neck,” Astarion spits. “Understand?”
Venn’s eyes widen at the threat, and the shiver running through his body shows that Astarion is giving him a chance to respond. He relaxes, continuing to hold still despite the lack of a command. “I understand,” Venn chokes out, his voice raspy from the grip on his throat. And just as quickly as it appeared, his freedom is taken away again, and he is immediately held still once more under Astarion’s authority.
“Hands behind your back. Now,” Astarion orders, smiling almost fondly when Venn immediately obeys. He pulls his consort’s head closer to slap his cock on the side of his face, coating his skin in spit and precum.
Venn whimpers when Astarion grabs him by both horns and pushes back into his mouth, forcing his head down until his nose presses against him. He swallows, relaxing his throat until the initial discomfort lessens.
“Look at you—so perfect for me when I take away your very nature,” Astarion murmurs. He places one hand on the back of Venn’s neck, holding him steady as he begins to thrust into his throat. “So quiet, so obedient, just a pretty face to use..."
Venn groans around the cock in his mouth, his thoughts becoming less clear and harder to grasp as Astarion painfully grabs him and pushes deeper into his throat, until his internal monologue turns into a constant stream of yes, more, for you, please, I need—
“That’s it,” Astarion praises, watching Venn closely as the familiar, vacant look in his eyes becomes clear. He pulls his spawn off his dick, gently guiding Venn to look up at him. “Look at me, dear,” he whispers, taking his cock in his hand and continuing to stroke himself. “Such a good boy.”
Venn’s gaze quickly shifts to him, tears gathering in his eyes and slightly blurring Astarion’s figure. He preens under the praise and gentle touch, humming contentedly as fingers softly scratch his scalp.
Astarion leans down, kisses the top of Venn’s head, then grips Venn’s jaw and forces it open wide. His expression turns menacing, and Venn shudders at the sight just as Astarion leans forward again, spits into his open mouth, grinning widely as his saliva spills down Venn’s chin when he doesn’t tell him to swallow.
Venn’s body immediately heats up—if his heart were still beating and blood flowing through his veins, his face would flush with embarrassment. He can feel the tightness in his stomach and between his legs, the throbbing of his dick, and the tense sensation in his chest. He starts to shake, muscles aching, his knees stinging from holding the same position so long. Every time he makes even the softest sound, he winces; any noise feels painful due to his burning, bruised throat.
“You’re perfect,” Astarion murmurs, his hand moving to cup Venn’s chin, his thumb brushing over his nonexistent pulse point—a reminder of Venn’s newfound immortality. “Do you know what things like you deserve?”
Even if he could, Venn doesn’t have the will to even consider responding to Astarion’s question. He just trembles, the mixture of sensations clouding his thoughts. He vaguely hears a laugh at his lack of response, watching as Astarion strokes himself faster.
"Nothing," Astarion answers his own question after forcing Venn to stay silent. “Things like you don’t deserve answers, or choices—” he pauses to press his fingers back into his consort’s mouth, watching as drool hangs from his chin to the floor. “Do you even understand me?”
Venn takes a moment to realize that Astarion’s command has slipped just enough for him to respond to the ridicule. He can only nod weakly and whimper in reply.
“There you are,” Astarion murmurs, his free hand quickly grabbing Venn by the horn and pulling him forward. A smile spreads across his face as Venn gasps, a brief look of pain showing from how his neck is strained. “At least you still make such sweet noises when you’re in this state.”
More tears begin to fall as the pain he feels intensifies—if he had the willpower, he would beg to be freed from Astarion’s merciless grip. Instead, he can only look up, still unable to look away under any circumstance.
“Such a pitiful little thing,” Astarion croons, holding Venn’s head in place as he continues to stroke himself rapidly. He thumbs at the base of one horn until Venn groans and shudders, the trembling in his body worsening. Astarion’s smile widens, pressing harder at the sensitive skin. “Falling apart from a simple touch.”
Venn struggles to resist Astarion’s control so he can close his eyes—to look away—the assault on all his senses approaching overstimulation.
“No,” Astarion orders sharply, his fingers threading through Venn’s hair to keep his head up. “I want to see your pretty face when I finish.”
Venn yelps when Astarion pushes back into his mouth, his movements immediately punishing. He keeps his eyes on his master—just as commanded—and is far too gone to recognize the near resentful way his lover looks down at him.
“Venn,” Astarion groans, releasing the tiefling’s horn to grasp the back of his head and weave fingers through his increasingly disheveled braids. “Venn, my love, I’m close—” he pulls hard on Venn’s hair, yanking him away while gripping tightly enough to make him cry out. He lets go and shoves two fingers into Venn’s mouth to press down on his tongue until he gags, and with his other hand, he strokes himself to completion, gasping his consort’s name.
Venn makes a surprised sound as Astarion finishes across his face, sticking his tongue out before the vampire pushes fully into his throat again, his small thrusts causing pain to shoot through him. He swallows around Astarion until he finally pulls away, and Venn gasps and coughs, fighting hard to be able to move again, straining against his master’s compulsion so he can bring a hand to his mouth and wipe the spit and cum from his lips. Astarion must oblige him because he suddenly falls forward, laying his head against his thigh.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Astarion coos, sliding his fingers across Venn’s face to wipe away the cum. He slips his fingers into his mouth, licking them mostly clean before reaching down to wipe his hand on Venn’s shoulder, smirking when he hears a soft sound of protest. “Come here, love.”
Venn groans, struggling to move his limbs—not because of any compulsion, but due to sheer exhaustion. He lifts his head enough to look up at Astarion, trembling from the effort.
Astarion sighs, leaning forward to support Venn as he crawls back into his lap. He wraps his arms around his consort’s waist, holding him close and rubbing his lower back soothingly. “There, dear, you’re alright. Yes?”
Venn barely nods, dropping his head to Astarion’s shoulder.
“I need to hear you, pet.”
“Yes,” Venn rasps, the sound barely audible.
“Good—good, my sweet boy,” Astarion croons, turning to kiss Venn’s throat gently. “What can we do for you, hmm?”
“I—” Venn pauses, still finding it difficult to sort out his thoughts. “Decide.”
“Are you certain?” Astarion questions, rubbing soft circles into Venn’s bare skin. “Can you handle this again?”
“Mhmm,” Venn nods, wrapping his arms around Astarion’s shoulders and hugging him shakily. “Please.”
“Only because you ask so nicely," Astarion teases, then suddenly speaking with authority again: “Move like this.”
He taps Venn’s hip and shifts them both until he straddles only his thigh. One hand wraps around the base of the tiefling’s tail; Astarion smiles deviously as he shudders, a soft whine escaping again. He grips his consort’s hip firmly with his other hand, pressing him down against his leg. “This is how you’re allowed to come.”
Venn gasps as he’s pushed down, forced to grind against Astarion’s leg. The sensation of his dick rubbing against the fabric of Astarion’s trousers becomes almost painful, and he winces before continuing, a slight push from his master’s hand urging him on. In his pliable state, it takes him a moment to realize he’s not being compelled at all—he shudders, finding the truth of his desperation more demoralizing than anything else that was just done to him.
“You can listen,” Astarion praises, encouraging Venn to ride his leg. He turns his head to drag his fangs across gray skin, stopping to suck a mark into his flesh, smiling when Venn’s nails sink into his shoulder in response.
“Astarion,” Venn murmurs, his body trembling from the ongoing effort of obeying his master’s commands, this time of his own accord. He hides his face in Astarion’s neck, muffling his panting and groans of pleasure. He cries out when his hair is suddenly pulled and he is jerked away, forced to look Astarion in the eyes. The cold, detached expression on his face suddenly fills Venn with fear.
“Let me hear you,” Astarion snaps.
“I—yes,” Venn whispers, the moment of anxiety fading as Astarion releases him and his touch softens again.
“Good,” Astarion praises, pressing fangs to his throat again, gradually biting down harder until Venn squirms in his hold, the movement of his hips becoming frantic and uncoordinated. “Sad little thing—rubbing against me like a desperate animal in heat.”
“Yes—fuck,” Venn moans, hugging Astarion as tight as he can as he feels his orgasm approaching. “Hurt me.”
Astarion laughs; an amused, taunting sound, before he sinks his teeth back in, flesh tearing open with ease. Venn cries out, the intense pain being the final thing he needed to push him over the edge. He whimpers as his master’s teeth withdraw from his neck, his body trembling from the effort of riding Astarion’s thigh through his orgasm.
“Astarion,” Venn mumbles weakly, completely collapsing against him. "Stop..." he protests as Astarion continues to gently lick and suck at the steadily bleeding wound on his throat.
“Apologies, pet,” Astarion soothes as he gives one last gentle kiss to Venn’s neck, right above the injury he caused. He helps his spawn lift his legs onto his lap until he can sit comfortably on his thighs, hiding his face. Venn shudders at a sudden chill, and Astarion taps him on the shoulder, giving him a gentle nudge to stand up before he gets too settled in. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Venn carefully stands up, wincing from the pain in his knees caused by dropping to the ground and being forced to kneel. He leans against the desk, looking down at the scattered papers. “I’m fine,” he responds, standing up straight, only to find Astarion’s arms around him, holding him still. “You were busy when I came in. I’m okay.”
“Hush,” Astarion’s voice is firm and his expression severe as he regards Venn, eventually softening when he sees the way he lowers his head to look away. “You are the most important thing to me.”
Venn looks surprised by his creator’s comment—but when he meets Astarion’s gaze, he sees no deceit. For a moment, it’s as if the man he first fell for is looking back at him.
“Alright,” Venn concedes, yelping in surprise as Astarion quickly lifts him, holding him effortlessly with one arm under his legs and the other supporting his back. "You’re much stronger than me now,” Venn complains, lamenting the loss of his previous advantage, even if it was slight.
“Would you rather I allow you to walk in such a state?”
“No,” Venn mutters with a smile as Astarion pulls him close enough to bump foreheads. He has always found that the pain from their more agonizing nights together is worth it; it allows for these moments, when Venn is coming back from the emptiness that suffering at the hands of another pushes him into, with Astarion—even this new, often unsettling version of him—helping pull him back.
The exhaustion hits Venn in full force, and Astarion feels a twinge of fondness as he watches Venn doze off before they reach their shared room. “Come on, now,” Astarion whispers, gently freeing his partner from his arms to set him on the bed. Before he can turn to grab a blanket, his wrist is suddenly seized with surprising force, and he's pulled into bed beside Venn, who immediately drapes part of himself over him, tossing a leg over his and wrapping an arm around his waist. Astarion huffs, carefully sliding an arm under his shoulders and turning his face to kiss the top of his head. “I adore you, Venn,” he whispers. “More than anyone ever has and ever will.”
“I love you,” Venn responds, so softly that Astarion barely hears. He stiffens, the hand gently playing with his spawn’s hair going still. He suddenly finds it hard to understand—how is this what a thing like him deserves?