Chapter Text
“Lean in to kiss me
In all the places
Where the ache
Is the most special.”
― Sanober Khan
From the moment the duergar's lubricated dagger grazed the bicep of your arm, Astarion knew that something was not right. The battle against the duergar to save the Ironhand gnomes from their enslaved confines inside their Grymforge prison had proved a strenuous and perilous fight, the dwarves using whatever malicious tactic they could use to take out your party as efficiently as possible. Of course Astarion and the ragtag band of companions had succeeded in winning the fight, but not without banged up bodies and bruises and slashes to the skin. As a dark dweller himself, Astarion was not particularly fond of the duergar, their coarseness even too crude for his tastes , but even more so, they fought dirty. Dirtier than he, and in ways even he did not trust, which was all the more reason why victory over them tasted oh-so sweet.
But that was why, in the case of you, he was ever so worried. He knew something was inherently wrong the moment a particularly vile and swarthy duergar rushed in during mid-fight and slashed his blade towards your unguarded side. Had you not been so quick on your feet as Astarion had come quickly to learn about your fighting style, he had projected that the blade surely would have rendered you missing a limb. You countered the attack quickly, dodging to the right and rolled forward for a counter attack of your own; even still, despite your saving throw and defeating your assailant in the next strike, the damage, a damage you were all too unaware of, was unfortunately done.
And Astarion, who never felt sorry for anyone, felt more sorry for you than he had for anyone but himself.
He knew it before the blade scraped your flesh. The dwarf’s dagger, covered in a reddish-yellow and slick substance, gave off a distinct odor that had immediately swarmed Astarion’s senses. It was a scent he had smelled before, and on one occasion himself, many a year ago, had the misfortune of being a victim too as well. He was not aware if anyone else within the party had detected it, but when the fluid of the blade gashed your flesh and began to seep between crevices of the cut, Astarion knew it would not be before long where you would fall victim to its purposes.
That god damn duergar. So repungent and disgusting. Such an unnecessary tactic meant to cause humiliation and submission.
Now, it was the waiting game to see when it was that you would fall ill to its purposes
And that didn’t take long.
In the time that Astarion had known you, you were not the type to complain or gripe of trifles, big or small, and even through the grandest of misfortunes you would endeavor to hide your sheer disappointment. In regards to pain, while you were by no means the strongest member in the party, Astarion found himself impressed by your vigor to hide the troubles from your ailments from battle, no matter how serious your abrasions or afflictions may be. But in regards to the nature of the malady you were about to endure? Astarion could not believe how you were able to sustain yourself from the beginning of the onslaught of the symptoms yet to come. As you and the company made your way back to the myconoid camp for some much needed respite after such an arduous fight, Astarion was first to notice the sheen of sweat that began to coat your skin, as well as the manner in which you continuously nipped your lower lip as a distraction. It wasn’t long before that Shadowheart noticed your labored breathing, and you adamantly insisted that your panting was due merely to overexertion in your fight. It was about ten minutes before you all made it back to camp that Gale and Karlach insisted that you slow down your hurried steps out of fear of walking into dangerous ground, but the convulsions of your muscles and your strenuous breathing made them realize that something more serious was happening beneath their noses.
Astarion could only wonder how long it would be before someone else noticed the smell, an aroma that he had become all too familiar within during the past two centuries.
Upon arriving back at camp, no one else had even been a chance to inquire if you were alright. “I-I am fine. I j-just need some rest,” you had blurted out as you hastily rushed towards your tent, and with most precipitous steps Astarion had ever seen, you promptly slid into your quarters, closed the flaps of your tent, and became silent.
Silent, only for so long.
“What on earth happened to her out there?” Wyll inquired, the Blade of Frontiers worried as always for the wellbeing of his companions. “I have never seen Tav is such a hasty state.”
Gale cast a quick glance over in the direction of your shelter, everyone startled by a sudden whine that had escaped your lips as he cleared his throat to answer. “The match with the duergar was not one to take lightly. They fought most savagely against us as we tried to assist the gnomes. I would not be surprised if Tav witnessed something upfront to cause her distress. Still, she does not seem well. I am most worried about her.”
“As am I,” Shadowheart continued, her brows furrowed as she appeared lost in thought. “I am most worried that one of the dwarves cast a curse upon her while none of us were looking, and she hides the effect of her ailment as we speak. She insisted that nothing is wrong with her, but I beg to differ.”
A curse is an understatement, Astarion mused as he leaned back against a tree. How long would it take before anyone else would figure out what it was that ailed you? There was a reason you wished to remain silent and solitary in this moment.
Lae-zel scowled. “Ch’k,” she spat, crossing her arms in resentment. “A foe most fetid,” she muttered, casting her gaze in the direction of your tent. “How I now yearn to have been there to have slit the throats of those who crossed Tav and myself.”
“I’m really worried about Tav,” Karlach interjected, her fiery brows drawn with apprehension as she tapped her foot. “Somethin’ just ain’t right with all of this. I’m not feeling good about this.”
“As am I,” Shadowheart said, wiping her hands and sighing at last. “As insistent as she is that she is fine, I myself cannot find peace of mind until I check on her. This could be most grievous of a situation.”
“Agreed,” replied Gale as he rolled up his sleeves. “Shadowheart, let’s make our way to our companion and question her. See how her symptoms ail her. If this is indeed a curse, you can utilize your expertise to assist her. If it’s of the arcane manner, I will do what I can in mine. Shall we?”
Shadowheart nodded, and the wizard and cleric made their way over to your quarters. From the distance, another desperate whine had escaped your mouth. Lae’zel, Karlach, and Wyll all exchanged troubled glances at one another while Astarion continued to remain silent, his eyes closed as he lost himself in thought.
Tav…
Astarion was not the kind to really care about others. Had anyone ever truly given a shit about him in the past two hundred years? Had anyone taken a moment to consider his feelings, his thoughts, his autonomy he lacked as he was forced and suppressed into all situations one would deem undesirable? He had no one to care, and so in turn, he turned a blind eye to the needs and wants of others. And why should he care? The world went on around him, and as he had always said to himself, it was everyone man, orc, elf, and dwarf for themselves in such a corrupt world.
He heard a mangled cry tear up through your throat, one that sent tremors down his spine.
But though a bastard he may be, he could not help but feel his heart rendered with absolute pity for you in this moment. At any second, Shadowheart and Gale would emerge from your tent with your diagnosis, and neither of them could ever possibly imagine the vastness of the quandary that you were fighting within yourself this very instance. How you skirmished to remain in control of yourself, repress the sensations burning inside you, the fire that coursed through your veins as you began to lose dominion of your body. No, they would never understand, except for himself, would never truly understand the pain and humiliation of having no control of your desires, to have rapaciousness and voracity consume you as you begged for your release.
No. No one could possibly understand what it felt like to be stripped of that autonomy.
Astarion had all but been lost in his own musings as finally, with what felt like hours, Shadowheart and Gale emerged from your tent and made their way back over to the company. Even in the umbrage of the Underdark, the glow from the campfire and the phosphorescence of the fungi that scattered the landscape provided enough lighting to have Astarion and everyone else easily decipher the expression on Shadowheart’s and Gale’s countenances. The cleric’s lips were drawn into a tight line, a tinge of sweat on her skin as she appeared to gather her words. The wizard on the other hand? Had the situation not been so grave for you and had he not sympathized with your plight, the vampire would have blithefully mocked Gale, a tint of deep crimson reddening the wizard’s cheeks. Though he remained collected, Astarion easily took note of how utterly flustered Gale appeared; the wizard shifted uncomfortably as if restrained within the confines of his pants, and the Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as if trying to stifle some hidden desire. Yes, a sight that Astarion would have gleefully ridiculed, but in his heart of hearts, he simply could not for your sake.
“Well?” Karlach began, her eyes wrought with apprehension. “What is it?”
Shadowheart looked to Gale, and noticing the repentant and abashed nature of his state of being, the cleric spoke. “Well, I…I think the most important aspect of all of this is that Tav is not afflicted with any life-threatening scourge. She is indeed infected with what one might consider a ‘curse’, but it is one that she will find recovery from.” The cleric paused, clearing her throat. “What is problematic is how soon she will recover from her infirmity.”
“T’chaki,” Lae’zel spat, “do get on with this and tell. How soon shall it take her to find respite? What even is it that ails her?”
The blush in Gale’s cheeks deepened. Shadowheart sighed as if a heavy weight lay upon her shoulders. “Had we the alchemical ingredients to craft an antidote? She would be fine within the hour. However, we have none of the required compounds for the panacea, and so we will either have to search for such, hoping we can acquire what we need within the forests or the Underdark, or, we will have to travel the hour to the myconoid camp to acquire the ingredients there, assuming that they have them there for purchase.”
Everyone was silent for a moment. In the distance, from the confines of your tent, a mangled moan had torn up from your throat. Gale bit his lip and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Wyll’s eyes widened.
“So…so how long until her ailment passes?” The Blade of Frontiers inquired.
Astarion gritted his teeth. These fools surely had no idea how much you were suffering for, and for how long.
Shadowheart sighed. “Given…given the nature of her disorder? I would say…at least until morning.”
Silence again, save for the sound of you shifting and whimpering in your tent.
It was Karlach who broke the silence. “So…what is it? What has got her so sick? Is…is it…?”
But Astarion could remain reticent no longer. Knowing you had no voice of her own, it was he who would finally speak on your behalf.
“From a laceration on her arm from a dagger, coated in an innocuous but repugnant fluid. Succubus spittle,” he announced quietly.
The quietness again, all heads turned to the vampire as Karlach and Wyll gazed upon him with shock. Lae’zel said nothing, a sense of understanding holding her silence as her eyes lay with sympathy.
“You…you knew,” Shadowheart said breathlessly after another moment of reticence. “Astarion, why in all nine hells did you not say something! If you knew what ailed her, why didn’t you tell us sooner and –“
“And speak against her own will?” Astarion retorted. “Strip her of her self-rule and humiliate her? I could never. Tav insisted she was fine. I knew she would be…well, ‘fine’, and I was going to respect that, for as long as the situation remained in her control. It wasn’t my place to say anything if she truly didn’t want a word said.”
A concussive laconism loomed over the company. Was it the reveal of the cause of your current state had everyone so shaken, or Astarion’s passionate outburst of your autonomy that had left them all in such awe? Either way, it took a couple more moments before anyone in the company would say a word.
But it was Karlach, whose hateful penchants for all things associated with the hells that drove her very will, who spoke first. “Succubus spit, imbued on a blade…fucking hells. But why? In all places. In all situations to use, why the hell would the duergar have that?”
Lae’zel with her tactical knowledge, seemed to have an answer. “A most perplexing strategy, but one most foul and shrewd indeed. I’ve heard stories of those infected with such. Whether through ingestion or by absorption of the bloodstream, it only takes moments for the infected to suffer from its affects. A single drop can render a soul in a state of insurmountable heat and desire. But more than just a drop? A mouthful, perhaps, or more? Enervation of the body and weakness of the muscles, perspiration from the skin and heightened temperature of the body. Emotions overwrought with weight, palpitations of the heart that leaves the infected breathless and quivering . But worst of all, if one would say,” and the githyanki paused, taking a deep breath as if suddenly herself understanding your plight, “titillation and arousal of the body that is insuppressible and intractable. It as though the diseased is possessed, impure of thought and lubricious of body as nothing can satiate the needs one suffers. It is indeed a curse and punishment befitting of the fiends from hell.”
A quiescence and stillness once again, the implication of Lae’zel’s words bearing more weight upon the party than everyone would have originally imagined. Sure, you were in no true danger and respite would be found if the cure could be made or purchased in a timely manner, but to suffer like that until morning, if one could be not? That was hours upon hours away.
It was to be a long and harrowing evening for you, if no respite or relief were to be found soon.
Astarion observed that Wyll joined Gale in a state of diffidence and timidity while the women in the party appeared to find company in understanding the pain a woman suffered through in unsatiated arousal. No one said a word for what felt like eons, until Karlach, who jumped slightly at a whimper that came in the direction of your tent, startled her from her thoughts. “Well,” she began slowly, scratching her head as the flames of her body simmered over her flesh. “I…I guess we better get to it and either head to the woods or the mycnoids, right?” She inquired aloud. “Although I don’t know which of the options will result in faster solutions.” A licentious moan reverberated through the dark of the night, and Karlach’s eyes widened as she tried to find her next words. “Although….I…I’d feel bad about not finding some way to help Tav in the meantime, or as least not leave her alone while she is suffering…”
Astarion twitched. As his companions began murmur over their best course of action to follow until dawn arrived, a most imprudent and salacious idea came to mind. No…no…even for me, that would not feel right, Astarion thought, but deep within his soul, he knew. He knew how it was that you suffered. He knew the upmost pain your affliction presented to you, how you begged for reprieve or some kind of release so you could find rest at last. He had been there. He had been there before, having not only suffered at the hands of Cazador’s scheming commands but also at the hands of the hundreds of depraved patrons that he served. Anything, anything at all to help you find some respite would be better than nothing at all. And, with his expertise in all things carnal in nature, he knew of an idea that might just be that temporary fix.
The question was, would you receive the aid?
For the first time this evening, Astarion found himself in same parallel state as the wizard and warlock. But, casting away the intrusive thoughts that plagued his mind, the vampire uncrossed his arms and began to make his way over to the direction of your tent.
“A-Astarion, where are you going?” Shadowheart asked curiously, her brow raised in perplexity as everyone’s attention was now drawn to him.
Astarion turned around for a moment, speaking clearly to let his intentions be known. “I’m going to do the only thing I know I can do right now: actually help her. The rest of you can make yourself useful and split up to get what she needs. Three birds with one stone, if you will. We’ll all be useful, then all will be well.”
No one spoke for a moment. Did they not understand what he had said?
But it was Wyll whose face suddenly became cast with stupefaction, his cheeks reddening and his jaw dropping at the realization of what Astarion implied. “Astarion…you…no…you can’t be serious…”
The women in the party did not quite catch on yet, but Gale was next to join. “No…no, Astarion. That isn’t right. You can’t just do that. She is not in her right mind! She’s not in the right senses to object or-“
“Depraved as I can be,” Astarion spat harshly, causing Gale to stop in his tracks, “I am not a heathen. I’m not that kind of monster, believe me. I would never take advantage of someone if they said no. You should know that.” And Astarion paused, looking to everyone in the party. “You all know it that unless we master Plan A or Plan B, Tav is going to remain like this for the rest of the night.” And Astarion turned to Gale once again, for the first time this whole evening letting his consideration for you drop so he could scorn his companion. “Unless of course, you Gale, wants to be the one who steps in to assist her?” Astarion smirked, knowing all too well how your aroused state had left Gale flustered. The wizard who had suddenly become a blushing school boy opened his mouth to retort, but he too knew that Astarion was unmistaken. “Thought so,” the vampire declared. “Now.” Astarion was most surprised to see that neither Karlach, Lae’zel, or Shadowheart showed any sign of objection to his strategy, “I would say that it be best that you all decide who is with you and be off while I take care of Tav here. Besides, you’d all need to cover your ears if you were to remain here, if Tav does indeed say yes to the help…”
Jaws were agape. Without saying another word, Astarion took a deep breath and sauntered in the direction of your tent. No one had objected from behind him, and in fact, he did indeed hear the hurried talk of everyone, the rustling of bags, and the rushing of plans proposed to be instated. Thank gods, Astarion said to himself, at least knowing now that the facilitation of your condition could go as undisturbed as possible as he needed. At least, he hoped, that this could be done in as much peace as possible, an amity you so desperately needed. With each step as he approached your tent, though, he found his nostrils flaring, his eyes widening and the blood in his dead flesh quickening as he took note of your scent from afar, and he swallowed harshly at the ramifications of what was potentially about to happen.
Astarion had always been too stubborn to admit to his own shortcomings. He had refused to believe that he could be assailable or ineffectual in any sort of way, especially after enduring centuries of being on the receiving end of emotional neglect and abuse. In fact, a constant state of detachment and dissociation was really the only way that he found himself surviving from one to the next passing day, and so sympathizing with anyone else’s plights was something he never paid any heed to.
But, ever since Astarion’s journey to rid himself of the illithid tadpole that infested his mind had begun, he had truly not anticipated making company with others who not only shared experiences in the absurdity of his circumstances, but he found himself making company with those that he actually began to become fond of.
And for you, Tav, he had found a certain and special fondness.
He had not originally liked you. Hells, he didn’t care for you at all the moment he met you, your holier-than-though mentality causing him to disdain you immensely. But over time, for these last several weeks of his sojourn, he found himself truly enjoying your company and tolerance for his depraved and witty musings. It was almost as if you had understood him and Astarion felt that not having to explain himself to you in all the ways he thought was a true breath of fresh air that he had not felt in centuries.
But more importantly, there was so much more to all of this, the very reason why, as Astarion stood outside your quarters, that he felt absolute condolement for you and wanted to do everything he could to help you find some form of relief. There was a deeper sense of sentiment involved, an equivocal hunger that burned deep inside of him that had yet to be satiated. He didn’t just enjoy your company and connection but actually really liked you, which was all the more reason why knowing that you were suffering was driving him mad. How someone like you who had been nothing but good to Astarion did not deserve to endure even a fraction of the curse that burdened you right now; and so, in any way possible, even if you rejected him in the moments to come, he at least wanted it to be known that he was willing to do whatever he could to help you.
Astarion heard you shift against your blankets, the sound of wet flesh touching itself suddenly sending a burning sensation down his spine. His throat tightened, his pupils dilating at the knowing of what such a sound was, and reaching for the flap of your tent, Astarion mustered within himself a strength he didn’t realize he would need. He took a deep breath, anticipating the many ways in which this conversation could possibly go.
“Tav,” Astarion said softly. “Are you awake?”
Another rustle of fabrics, a gentle whine tearing up through your throat as you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.
“A…Astarion?” You answered, your voice cracking shakily.
Astarion closed his eyes. “Yes. Yes, it’s me. How are you feeling?”
The vampire noted that you hesitated in your response. Were you surprised by his worry, or was it something else? “I’m…I’m…fine? I’m here. I-I’m ok…” Your voice trailed off, the sound of slick flesh once again penetrating the air. Astarion could almost hear a curiosity in your voice. “W-What…what are you doing here?”
“Not that I don’t trust the judgements of our cleric and wizards to make a proper diagnosis,” Astarion began simply, “but being your most admirable of companions, I felt it good judgement on my part to check on you for myself.” It wasn’t a full lie of course. He did in all honesty feel it’d be cruel of him to not see how you were, given that he was witness to your injury during the fight. However, he knew he needed a cover to mask the guise for his true purpose being here. “I… may… may I come in?”
You did not answer right away, and Astarion’s heart sank. Surely, in your current state, you did not want to deal with any more visitors, let alone have anyone see you in such a vulnerable position. But, after he spent a moment of hearing the shifting of fabric within the tent, you spoke your reply. “I…er…y-yes. B-But….” And you wavered for a second. Astarion could sense a fear, a hesitancy in your voice. “I’m…I’m not at my best, Astarion. Please, just… don’t judge or tease me, ok? Please?”
Astarion could have laughed, for more than just one reason. Surely, you were completely oblivious to the fact that Astarion ironically was the first to know of your condition, but secondly, he found it absolutely adorable that you were so petrified that he would make fun of you. In any other situation? In regards to anyone else in an amusing predicament? Absolutely. But this, knowing how he sympathized with the horrors you anguished over? Not in a million years over something like this, he mused to himself. Knowing that what was about to potentially happen could surely leave you in a state of humiliation, he wanted to absolutely make sure that no judgement on you would pass.
“When you are ill? Never would I tease you. You have my word, Tav.”
He heard you breath heavily from the other side of the curtain. “O…okay. You can come in…”
And so Astarion stepped through the veil, but within seconds, he stopped within his tracks. He knew that your condition was bad, but not quite like this. It was no wonder that Gale was in such a flustered and frazzled state after assessing your health. The distinct and piquant aroma of feminine essence swirled through the air, and it was all Astarion could do to keep his wits about him as he inhaled your scent like the juices of the most forbidden of fruits. His chest tightened, his pupils dilated, his nostrils flared, and the muscles of his abdominals flexed as he breathed in the fragrance. Doing all he could to keep his senses straight, he did his best to block out just how utterly the intensity of your pheromones instantly affected him.
He swallowed hard. No, he did not anticipate this. Turning down a favor to assist you? Astarion was prepared for that. But this? Every inch of him felt as if he was consumed by your very existence No, he was not prepared for this, completely caught off guard, and as he took a step forward your frame which lay huddled on the ground, he had to remind himself that it was his pity and distress for you that would drive him to keep his senses straight.
And a pitiful sight you were indeed. In the muted lighting in your tent, the only source of light being a solitary lamp that hung from the frame above your bedroll, Astarion’s heart ached for you as he gazed at you laying upon the bedroll. You somehow managed to miraculously remove your armor and other gear, perhaps at the assistance of Shadowheart, and your body and hair had been cleansed of any blood and guts of the battle prior. Now, you donned a much more comfortable outfit of a linen camisole and breathable coordinating skirt. Had one not known of the ordeal you were currently experiencing, they would initially think the sheen of sweat on your body was merely due to the warmth of a balmy evening.
But Astarion knew otherwise, and with an intense gaze over your frame, he quickly deciphered just how badly your curse must have been plaguing you. Your body was curled in on itself, your knees pulled up to your belly as you clutched at a pillow to your breast. He could see your petite figure tremble, your hair splayed out on your pillow and your eyes heavy and laden with need as you labored to breath in the heat of the night. He could only imagine how you must have felt, the calefaction emanating from your body made only worse by the sultriness of the evening, and as he made a single step towards you, you lifting your head only slightly as he approached, your eyes widened and your cheeks reddened deeper with his proximity.
He noticed the toes of your bare feet twitch. You nipped your lower lip as you stared up at him with heavy, sultry eyes.
And there was your heart beat, the sound pounding madly in his head and racing just like Lae’zel said it would, for reasons more than just one. Astarion could hear it as if it were his own.
An obtrusive silence lingered in the air, save for the labored panting of your breathing. He was not sure of what to do next. The smell of your sweat and essence, all mingled into one fragrance that whorled within the air, made Astarion struggle to keep his wits about him. He smelled everything. Your fear and uncertainty over what was going to happen to you, but even more so, fear over HIM being in your presence. But then there was that balm too, the fragrance of your arousal that you could not command and subjugate to your own will.
And the sight of you fighting those desires was killing him.
Finally, the pregnant silent ending, strangled words tore up through your throat.
“A-Astarion,” you choked, your gaze laden with absolute shame as your cheeks flushed further. “I-I’m…I’m sorry.”
The vampire raised an eyebrow, not sure whether or not to come closer. Still, your remark struck him as odd. “Sorry? What for, my dear?”
You appeared to fight back a tear, and for a moment, you buried your face within the pillow to stifle a moan that tore out of your throat. The salacious sound, painfully tantalizing in the ears of Astarion, was less than warranted by you. “F-For…for being like this right now. I’m r-ruining everything. T-The whole evening. Discussing the discourse of our next plan of a-action to find our c-cures, and here I am, messing all of that up.”
Astarion raised an eyebrow, now moving into a kneeling position to make himself eye level with you. Perhaps, if his presence did not seem so overpowering standing up, you’d feel a little more at ease. “Tav, my dear, don’t make yourself a martyr for ruined fun,” he teased playfully. “What happened to you could have easily happened to any one of us at the forge. Hells, even me, and I’m sure you know what kind of joyous fun that would have been.” He smirked for a moment, hoping his infamously wanton sense of humor would at least lighten your mood somewhat, but all he could get from you was a meager smile that needed to be forced out.
You nipped your lip, forcing back a whine as your hips squirmed against your folded legs. Astarion inhaled deeply, the unexpected gyration of your hips a surprising and suggestive sight. Gods, how was this more of a challenge than he anticipated?
Before he could say another word, your face hid behind the pillow as you continued to tremble on the ground. “E-Even still,” you began, your words heated and unintentionally lecherous in tone, “I feel absolutely mortified over this w-whole situation. It was a terribly arduous d-day and now everyone has to cover their ears so they don’t have to deal with listening to me. I feel t-terrible. I don’t even know what to do with m-myself…”
There it was, the opening, Astarion’s cue to solicitate a rather profound proposition, one that he hoped, for your sake, you would accept. He shifted slightly, choosing his next words carefully to help soften the blow of what he was about to suggest. “I don’t think you have to worry as much as you think you would,” he began smoothly, his eyes locking deeply with yours, and Astarion noted carefully the ways your pupils retracted and dilated with lust. Your nostrils twitched, your toes squirmed, and whether it was the curiosity over his words or a pure appeal for salvation, you slowly pushed your upper body upright, your palms pressed into your bedrolls as you trembled.
Your brows were drawn, your chest heaving as you stared back heavily into his crimson eyes. “W-What do you mean?” You asked, words heavy with breath as you almost struggled to take breath. “What do you mean I don’t have to worry?”
It was now or never, and so Astarion spoke. “Our companions and myself have divided ourselves into three parties, each with our own plan to help you. Our first party is off venturing in the woods, seeking the alchemical elements needed for an antidote for you. If they can procure what we need to produce you a solution, this way, you won’t have to suffer longer than necessary. Our second party is heading off to the myconoids to see if there is an already concocted draught brewed that we can give you without the necessary searching, in case our first party fails. As for me, well, I am the solitary member of the third party, here to…help you…”
You stared up at Astarion breathlessly, chest rising and falling heavily as you comprehended his speech. You inadvertently pressed your thighs together, trying to make sense of what he meant by his role in all of this, your soft lips parting all the while as you looked at him with lust-laden eyes. “Help me…how?” You asked quietly, nipping your lower lip.
This was it. Gods, have mercy on me.
Astarion shifted himself into a more placid kneeling position. He allowed his shoulders to hang comfortably, attempting to best hide the sudden apprehension that was coursing through his own veins.
“Before I tell you, Tav,” he began, his voice low and soothing, “I have but one thing to ask you first: do you trust me?”
A simple question nonetheless, one that had been asked eons ago when you two first met. In fact, wanting to establish a bond of trust was the ruse that all began you accepting him into the traveling party. Of course how quickly those tides began to sway into the other sea when he had found himself actually truly trusting you, and vice versa. Astarion knew that you did indeed trust him as well, but still, in this very moment, appealing to you once again if you still felt the same was the most important question Astarion could ever ask you.
You raised your eyebrow, you nipping your lower lip as you steadied yourself on your palms. “T-Trust you?” you said breathlessly as you wave of crimson reddened your cheeks. “Astarion, I…I trust you with my life…”
A piercing of words never expressed to him ever, straight to the heart. Hearing you say such words did more to Astarion than he had expected, and he now felt his rather cold corpse of a living body blazing with heat from within. He needed to remain within control of his emotions. No, he could not ruin your trust, could not scare you if you thought his intentions were of ill will. He took another deep breath. “I’m glad to hear that,” he replied softly, “which brings me to my next question. Or you could say perhaps, a proposition of sorts…”
He tried to read your expression past the wall of aphrodisia that hid your typical self. You appeared intrigued, nervous, curious, so many emotions all at once that it was impossible to truly get a read on you, but your body appeared to relax for just a second as you fought back another moan. You were desperate, and thus you hung on to his every word. “What…w-what proposition…may that be?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.
Astarion did not realize that he naturally shifted forward a little. Your scent was so god damn appealing in every way, and it was now more than understandable why the duergar would experiment with such a fucking revolting tactic in battle. It wasn’t just the victim of the poison who would be rendered helpless, but also anyone in proximity to her whom felt an attraction to her.
He cleared his head. He spent two hundred years doing his best to master the animalism that drove many a man to his destruction.
But here? You? You felt like a salvation.
And so he began. “What I’m about to ask you, suggest to you, may be unsought on your part. You can tell me no. You do not have to accept.” Astarion swallowed hard, finding his own flesh burning with a yearning that wanted more than anything. “But I want to propose to you, with your consent, entirely, a temporary solution that can give you relief if we do not retrieve an antidote before your symptoms subside. A solution that will give you some alleviation while the poison works its way out of your system. You even may experience multiple cycles of the recovery process, depending on badly the toxin saturated your blood stream. Either way, I am here and willing to help you endure through it all if you will allow it. At least you will not be left with unease all night long if our friends don’t succeed in their travels…”
Dead silence, save for your labored breathing. When had you edged yourself closer to him, Astarion wondered, but your eyes were locked deeply into his, your exhalations surprisingly shallow and calm. It was because you were lost in thought, as if trying to interpret each and every word that left his mouth. Another moment of quietude, until, after what felt like the most painfully long eons of existence that Astarion had ever endured in his long life, a realization washed over you.
You inhaled sharply, as if holding your breath. Your eyes were wide with an almost disbelief, as if you finally understood what exactly it was he was suggesting to you.
“A…A-Astarion,” you choked, your voice barely audible as if holding back every single ounce of your prudence. “Do…do you mean…that you…”
He saw this coming. He was quick and ready to defend. “A proposal, n-not a demand or a request on my part,” Astarion hastily blurted out, “I was merely suggesting that I could do so in order to…“
But he did not get another word out when he saw something most unexpected. Something that made him so utterfly despaired and ache deeply in his heart.
You were biting your lip, your chest rising and failing madly and hands almost tearing at the bedsheets beneath you, your sanity clearly as its very end. And on your face, on those beautifully crafted and soft, crimson cheeks, streams of tears.
What on earth….?
Astarion soon to find out what those tears meant.
“Astarion, yes,” you sobbed, hanging your head downcast towards the ground in utter submission and relief. “Please. P-Please help me, I beg you…”
The muscles in his chest and loins clenched, a sensation of one’s hand gripping around his throat making his head spin. He could not believe what you said. You accepted him. You agreed. He soon found that in the tension of the moment, he too began to tremble. Gods, you poor sweet thing that he desired more than anything, to provide the salvation you so desperately need. And so doing the only thing Astarion could do, doing the only thing he knew how to do, he shifted himself closer to you. He inhaled your scent, breathed in the heavenly essence of your arousal and perfume and the salt of your sweat and lost himself to the utter joy of knowing he’d be the one who would bring you some peace.
But he paused, his hand stopping mid-way as he reached out to you. You lifted your head, your eyes shimmering with anticipation, fear, lust, trust, any and everything all at once, and he knew that you knew why he stopped, stopped before laying a single finger on you.
You bit your lip, your eyes saying all and everything at once. “Astarion, please,” you whispered. “Touch me.”
He lost his mind yet kept his wits all the same. He did not know what devil in all the nine hells gave him the strength to do so, but he remained stalwart all the while as he prepared himself mentally for what he was about to do. “Let me make you comfortable, my dear,” he spoke softly, his words catching in his throat. With the grace of a cat, he somehow managed to fenagle himself so that he was situated behind you, sitting upright in a supportive position. As he shifted behind you, he immediately felt the searing and fierce heat emanating from your body, and inhaling the delectable spiciness of your arousal, the vampire greeted the sensation of said warmth seeping into his own cold frame with utmost joy. But despite how much he enjoyed your incalescence, even when not touching you, Astarion reminded himself that the said warmth was juxtaposed with your suffering; you were trembling, sweat dripping down your forehead, neck, and breasts as you stabilized yourself upright. You gasped at the celerity and grace of his motions, and Astarion noted how your body seemed to long more than anything to adjoin with his. You were already practically melting into his frame, and with upmost haste, Astarion stabilized himself before he made his next move.
Gods, the way you smelled was driving him mad. With a gentle turn of your head, you peered to gaze at him, lashes fluttering and eyelids heavy with need. And yet, you restrained yourself from making any further movements, as if awaiting his next command.
“A-Astarion,” you gasped, your lip quivering as you clutched at your chest. “W-What should I…what do you want me to do?”
Astarion’s loins twitched. There was something so utterly sweet yet salacious about the way you gazed at him, and gods, he wanted more than anything to help set you at ease. “Lean back into me darling, so I can begin…”
Darling. A simple word that had your eyes widening, your cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of ruby, as if to imply there was something much more endearing about this situation than anticipated. You trembled, but you nodded nonetheless. Bracing yourself on your palms, you scooted back to meet his frame, your back pressed against his chest as his spread legs cradled your thighs on either side.
To Astarion’s immense surprise, the moment your frames touched, you gasped. Gods, even through the fabric of his shirt did Astarion feel how utterly blazing hot your skin was. You pressed yourself needily into him, your head falling back onto his chest as you shut your eyes tightly and gripped at his knees.
It was then that Astarion understood why you met his body with such joy. Just as he enjoyed the torridity of your flesh warming his icy skin, you must have felt a reciprocal joy, and you made that joy be heard. “A-Astarion,” you whimpered huskily. “You f-feel so nice. So cool…” You turned to angle your head to look up into his face, pressing your face into his cheek to relish in the wintriness of his skin. “So soft…so cool.”
Once again, you caught him off guard. He knew what the power of the succubus spittle could do but he was still not anticipating your affectionate gestures. He needed to keep himself together, keep a steady pace if he was going to succeed in helping you. “As I could say the same of you, but opposite, my dear,” he replied playfully. He returned your gaze with an earnestness, his hands placing themselves on top of yours to steady you. Your hands, such soft and dainty hands that he suddenly found himself wanting to hold, and with a squeeze of each of them, he cleared his throat at last. “Tav, I will ask you once more: are you sure you want this? Are you sure that you consent to my help?”
It was almost adorable how quickly you nodded, and on any other occasion Astarion would have teased you for how impatient you were. He then asked his next question. “Are you sure that you trust me to take care of you, however that may be, so you can be eased of your suffering?”
You squirmed against his frame, your body pressing lightly against his groin that sent a series of carnal and inappropriate thoughts to his mind. “Y-Yes,” you whimpered. “Please, I need you Astarion…”
“Ok then, my dear,” he whispered in your ear.
Astarion had bedded hundreds, no, thousands of lovers over the centuries, and so he was no stranger to the gestures and gesticulations required to please a lover. No, he was a master of all and every genuflection of fingers and lips and where and how to touch every curve of the human body. But even still, even with such prowess, Astarion quickly learned that there was something entirely new to the art when it involved a partner whom you possessed a liking for. To know the soul whose flesh begged for your touch and whose legs naturally spread for you as you held her against you was an entirely new thing to Astarion, and a feeling that his soul truly began to enjoy. As he softly pressed his lips to your shoulder to savor for a moment the taste of salt upon your skin, all recollections of the trauma he ever experienced of being forced to bed someone dissipated into another plane of existence. Instead, all he could think of and see in his mind was you, his lips slowly traveling from one shoulder to the other and inhaling the aroma of your skin all the while as he lost himself in your presence. You moaned loudly, your head falling back even further onto his chest as your wriggled your hips, your hands squeezing his thighs to signify that you were truly begging for release.
As he continued to press his lips to your shoulders, for a moment nudging your head forward so he could place a kiss on the back of your neck, Astarion’s hands languidly began to move up your thighs and underneath the fabric of your skirt. But as his hands traveled further north to the source of your suffering, he had to refrain from choking with surprise over what he felt. The inside of your thighs were utterly and entirely wet, the honey-scented and lubricous fluid sticking to his fingertips as they moved to their destination. Gods, how you must have agonized this whole evening if this was the result of your status, and Astarion had to bite back a groan of his own over how he too now found himself feeling libidinous and lustful with need. But he refrained, enjoying the chorus of whimpers and moans that tumbled out of your mouth as you quivered to his touch.
“A-Astarion, please. Please please, I n-need you,” you whined, a tear streaming down your cheek as you gritted your teeth. “N-Now. Please…”
He was not used to skipping foreplay, but forgetting that this was a rather serious dilemma, that would perhaps have to wait until next time.
Next time?
Gods.
Did he just think that?
Could there, would there… be a next time?
His heart and soul suddenly went ablaze.
Gods, he hoped.
The very thought drove his next motion. He pressed his mouth to ear. “Anything for you, my darling..”
The cry that tore out through your throat was unlike any other. Without a moment’s hesitation, Astarion’s finger wormed past the band on your undergarment and found the tightened and quivering bud that had been the bane of your existence for the past several hours. Without warning, he began to deftly move his fingers over the mound of flesh, and you were instantly sobbing with pure pleasure, your hips jerking forward and your head thrown back against his shoulder as he worked his delicately exquisite magic over your clit. “A-Astarion, Astarion,” you cried, your hands shifting higher up on his thighs as you squirmed to his touch. All you could say again and again was his name as his finger moved over the slick bud, your essence further dripping from your heat as your tension uncoiled.
But Astarion was a gentleman in the art of lovemaking, and he knew that his current gesture would not be enough to suffice if you were to truly seek a much needed release. He pressed his lips to your shoulder once again, this time opening his mouth and gently nipping at the salty flesh with his fangs. You moaned, groaned, sobbed his name again and again as he had to use every ounce of his moral fiber to not sink his teeth into the flesh that he ever so desired to taste. And so, to distract himself from his own wants and needs and give you the most exquisite pleasure you ever felt, his shifted his finger down further to your core and slowly plunged his finger into your heat.
Gods. Fucking gods. Astarion was not the least bit surprised in how utterly soaking drenched you were, the motion of his finger dipping in and out of your cunt producing a salaciously wet sound. Even still, he had not anticipated how utterly tight and wonderful you felt. He growled as he continued to nip at your shoulders and neck, his other arm wrapping tightly and securely around your body, his hand placing itself on your breast to support you upright. So voluptuous and soft and utterly warm, and it took every ounce of fiber of the man that he was to restrain himself from pressing on even further. No, he didn’t just want you in this moment as he pumped his finger inside of you; he too needed you, just as much he felt as you needed him to provide you with a release.
You were sobbing with ecstasy, your face turned to his once again as you buried your face into his neck. Your other hand reached around to hold onto his shoulder as your spread your legs further, and Astarion found it absolutely adorable how you clung to him with need. His name continued to tumble out of your mouth over and over and over again as your squirmed against him, and the vampire could find himself lost forever in pleasuring you, had he known it were not your very torture.
“Gods, you poor thing,” Astarion murmured huskily as he looked down at your face, his lips pressing to the top of your head between his words. His gesticulations became more fervent, more passionate, his finger plunging deeper into your heat while his thumb now circled your clit. “This would be funny if it was anyone else but you. I know what it’s like to lose control of your own body. It’s a vile, wretched thing…. I’m…I’m sorry…” Through you, he was speaking from his heart. Centuries of torment with not a single soul to give a shit about what his body wanted. And to see you now, even if for a small moment in all of eternity, to suffer similar likes and lose all sense of control? Gods, how he knew how awful it was to endure through it all. He could not stand to see it. No, he would save, even if it killed him.
His words rasped in his throat. He gazed down at you, surprised to see that you hazily gazed up at him, your lips parting and lashes fluttering as you took in every word he spoke. Your hand moved from his shoulder and placed itself gently on his cheek as your trembled within his grasp. “A-Astarion,” you choked, your hips masterfully meeting the motions of his fingers as you gritted your teeth to fight back a guttural moan. That was when he sensed it: you were close to coming undone, and he could even feel it as he pumped his fingers as deeply as he could into your cunt. You were soaked, his fingers and whole hand were soaked to the wrist, the spice of your arousal clouding the world around him as he realized in this moment that it was not just you who sought release, but also he. To bury himself deep within you and lose himself in you, in a way that he had never given himself to anyone before.
It was he who moaned this time as he felt the walls of your cunt start to tighten. Your core tugged at his finger, your clit a hardened bundle of nerves that quivered to his touch.
You were there.
So close.
Darling, release. Let me hear you…
“A-Astarion, I’m…I’m…” You were literally screaming, your lips drawn in a gleeful, needy smile of pure ecstasy.
“Let me hear you, my sweet,” Astarion whispered in your ear as he gently gripped your breast to hold you close. “Come for me, my darling. Come for me.”
And gods did, you came, came undone in the most earth-shattering of ways. You screamed up to the heavens as Astarion clutched you tightly, and the vampire groaned elation and exultation at being able to witness such an exquisitely heavenly sound. Your release was unlike anything he had ever heard, but even more so, he could forever lose himself to the superbly wonderful sensation of your heat clenching and quivering around his finger; for a moment, he could only wish that it was his cock instead that lay nestled in the depths of your heat to feel you ride out your climax.
But his needs did not matter now. You reached your peak, you found your release, and after several moments of your muscles contracting and your frame shuddering, Astarion sensed that your body finally relaxed, if not just for a little bit, if only temporarily. Save for your unsteady but gentle breathing, all was quiet and serene, not a sound to be heard for miles.
All was tranquil, just the two of you within each other’s embrace.
For once in his life, Astarion’s words failed him. He always knew what to do or say at any given moment, but this? This moment? He was afraid to mar the serenity and sanctity of this moment by some stupid or playful banter that he was always known for. No, he would not be the one to ruin it, no matter what the cost.
Instead, much to his dislike, he slowly withdrew his hand from your cunt and from underneath your skirt. If he could blush he would have, for the slick coating of your essence had completely drenched his hand, delightfully so. He gazed at the sticky stuff, swallowing hard as he pleaded with every ounce of his fortitude to restrain himself from doing anything licentious with that which he desired so much to taste. He shifted in hopes that adjusting himself would distract him from the tightness in his pants.
Gods, he had to restrain himself. The scent was over worldly, your pheromones unlike any he had ever been gifted with inhaling.
No. He had to hold back. Could he?
But he need not worry, for it was you that would be the first to break the silence in the air.
“Astarion…”
Your voice was barely above a whisper. For a moment, Astarion thought he had imagined you talk.
But no, you did in fact say his name, for as Astarion shifted his gaze to look down at you, his eyes locked with yours. Your lids were heavy, your entire boy covered in a sheen of sweat, and your chest for the first time in hours was rising and falling gently like the waxing and waning of the ocean’s shore. Reaching your peak truly did the trick, if only as a temporary fix to alleviate your pain.
Astarion cleared his throat, afraid of what he’d say next. “Yes, my dear?” Simple, soothing words. It was a good start.
Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment. Astarion noted that you must have been utterly exhausted from both the day’s campaign at the forge and the battle with your personal plight. Your body reposed against his, and the vampire assumed that you were on your way to dozing off in slumber. “Astarion, am…am I going to be ok?” You asked him gently.
How adorable, the vampire thought, and he chuckled quietly in response. “Yes Tav. Believe it or not, you will survive. I am sure of it.”
You smiled sweetly, your lids fluttering shut once again. “Will you…” and you paused to breathe, a new blush creeping over your cheeks as you hid your gaze under your lashes, “will you…help me again, if the pain comes back tonight?”
Another blow to his heart and soul. Gods, he would think of doing anything less. Surprised with his own motion of his one hand, Astarion gave your breast a gentle but reassuring squeeze. “I wouldn’t think of anything else, my dear…”
Nipping your lip, you sighed, a sigh that he comprehended in so many ways, but he did not want to overthink what such a sound could mean. Your eyes began to fully close, but not before you said your last words to him, if just for a little while. “I’m…I’m grateful to you, Astarion….thank you…”
The words were just a whisper, but they shattered his heart into a million fragments nonetheless. Words he had never heard. Simple, magnificent words that he had always longed to hear, if not just by one single soul who’d acknowledge him for more than just the flesh people saw him as.
But you? You made him feel like so much more. And who would have thought that the feeling that currently burned intensely within Astarion’s heart would have begun with just one single touch…