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Astarion is thankful he can still get drunk.
The wine tastes bitter and what he recalls vinegar tasting like, once upon a time. It always tastes disgusting, but he’s become accustomed to it in the last two hundred years. Some, more enjoyable than others depending on the vintage, but the alcohol they stole from the Selunite temple tastes like vinegar. It would almost make him retch if it weren’t for the fact that he has a role to play tonight.
Alcohol always makes it easier.
Being drunk always makes it easier.
It helps numb the pain that exists deep inside every time he—
Here she comes, ALL hail our fearless leader. The HERO, the bleeding heart.
At least she’s beautiful. Sun kissed and freckled, long auburn hair that she had braided into two, neat braids. A glimmering smile in her big, brown eyes.
At least she’s beautiful.
She wants to help everyone she comes across and it makes him sick. The refugees in the grove are praising her tonight. The evening is cool, and the sky is clear. The tiefling wizard, who is almost as ridiculous as Gale, made his own firework show for her. The magical bursts of energy sparkling against the dark sky, glimmering against the scattered stars above. Clapping with glee, she smiles large and wraps her arms around the tiefling wizard’s neck and kisses his cheek. Astarion rolls his eyes.
Gale follows her around with his eyes all night like a lovesick puppy. The human wizard is still too caught up in his former goddess lover, Mystra, to try and make a move on the object of his desires tonight.
The tiefling at least gave her a show, Gale doesn’t even have the balls to do that.
It works in his favor, of course. He needs her more than Gale does.
No one trusts a vampire. He sees the way Lae’zel looks at him, she would run her sword through him. Wyll would gladly stake him if he gave him the opportunity. No, Tav lets him suck her blood. She always looks uncomfortable during the process. She whimpers when his fangs breach her skin, she writhes and clings to his upper arms, but she lets him because that is WHO she is. The silly girl is too trusting, freely offering her neck to him when he looks the least bit peckish.
He doesn’t complain, her blood fills him with something he’s never experienced before. It pulses and courses through him, makes him eager and ready to fight. It makes him feel… happy.
Her influence expands to the group, they all trust her because she is good. She is selfless, she is righteous, and damn, it will all get her killed.
It’s an unpopular opinion, but he hates her. Loathes her.
If he met her in Baldur’s Gate, she would have been an easy mark. She sees the best in people, and it will get her killed eventually. But, for now, he needs her protection. He needs her blood. He needs the security and safety she provides.
The groundwork had been laid since the first day he met her. A simple touch on her arm, a flashing smile, a longing gaze, perfectly chosen pet names. Opening himself up just enough about his past to lure her in. Tonight, he needed to make it official. Get on her good side, bed her— make her want for more. He had done it so many times that it was second nature to him. Two hundred years of practiced foreplay and seduction. She is no different.
“Astarion!” she beams, and he takes another long sip of alcohol as he gets into character. “Enjoying the party?”
"I hate it," he says, another sip. Drink, drink, drink. "This is awful."
"It's not that bad," she says with a smile. "Think of all the goblins you killed."
"True," he agrees momentarily. "That was fun. Still, I would have liked more for my trouble than a pat on the head and vinegar for wine."
She ponders for a second. "True, the goblins would have thrown a wilder party!"
Her smile makes his stomach churn, but he cannot figure out why. There is a happiness in her features that he envies, yet he continues his charade. "I'm just looking for a little more excitement. A little more— fun."
"That had better not mean, 'I want to kill something'," she teases.
How can she understand that killing gives him a sense of control over himself? In that moment, he is in charge. "Don't be so sour. I like a good time as much as anyone," he bats his eyes and moves closer to her, gently trailing his fingers down her arm. "You know, we could always make our own entertainment, darling. Get a little closer, so to speak."
She laughs.
"Maybe if you say, 'please'," she states with a wink.
He is surprised.
There was a large part of him that thought she would say no. "What?"
"Say," she says softly and leans into him, mirroring his own honeyed words. "Please."
She's drunk.
The wine is strong, perhaps too strong.
"Please," he breathes, barely a whisper.
"Good boy," she praises, and it sends a chill down his spine. "Let's get together tonight."
"Cheeky little pup," he says with a laugh. "I'll see you later."
She turns and begins to walk away before turning back and smiling. "And, when we are finished don't forget to say, 'thank you'."
"My, my, aren't you a delight," he replies, taking another long sip of wine.
"Thank you for helping out at the grove," she says, suddenly serious. "I know you didn't want to, but I appreciate it."
He is satisfied with his performance; the rest will be easy. He leaves her and her eyes follow him the entire way back to the fire.
It’s always so easy.
The rest of the night was a blur. They all get drunk, they dance, they celebrate. He plays the part of the merry elf and laughs and jokes with the group. The next time he looks over at Tav, she is stumbling around with Shadowheart, the two women laughing and embracing. They’ve become quick friends, the two of them.
The rest of the crew has turned in for the night. Gale has already retired to his tent, but not before giving another lingering look to Tav, and Astarion can only scoff as he watches the wizard disappear behind his tent flap.
He inhales sharply and calms himself before the next step.
Showtime.
He approaches the two women and they both greet him with giggles and smiles.
Fucking fools.
His arms wrap around Tav’s slim waist, and he pulls her into his body, his hand sliding down her spine to the small of her back. “I have found a beautiful clearing, darling,” he purrs. “It’s just past the camp here, about 30 paces east. Meet me there.”
Tav gives a laugh but leans into him and he wraps his arm around her. “Sleep tight, Shadowheart!” Tav gives him a grin and kisses his cheek before breaking from his grasp and heading to her tent. No doubt to get herself together for her tryst.
It’s always easier when his target is drunk. When they are easily pliable. He heads to the clearing himself, sitting on a rock to prepare himself for the evening. He takes his shirt off, folding it neatly, and placing it next to him. Folding it— Cazador did always like things tidy, it seems silly to him now to fold a shirt in the middle of the woods. He pushes it off the rock and the shirt crumples onto the ground, a small act of defiance in his mind.
The cracking of branches and leaves underfoot alerts him that she is approaching, and he quickly rises to his feet and stands next to a tree. He readies his words in his mind, but he knows it is all just a formality at this point.
“There you are. I’ve been waiting.” He is pleased with the sincerity he has given his voice as he sees the pink flush across her cheeks. He walks towards her, and she grins slightly. “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”
“You don’t have me yet,” the words escape her, playfully. She is trying to tease him, but it only frustrates him instead.
“Don’t I? You’re here. And, I don’t think you want to talk.” She is staring at him intensely now, her eyes studying him as he waves his hand over her. “I think you want to be known. To be tasted.” Words he has said hundreds of times before, oozing with every drop of sweetness that he can milk from them.
“And, what do you want?”
What do I want?
It occurs to him that no one has really asked him that before. He cannot get lost in that thought though, so he pivots. “What do any of us want? Pleasure. Yours. Mine. Our collective ecstasy.”
Her eyebrows are raised, a slight smirk on her lips. It causes him to panic, slightly. Is she onto him? “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me?” He doesn’t realize how desperate he sounds until the words tumble out of his mouth, but she nods, and relief washes over him.
She has melted with every lie that has left his lips; he can see it. The way her body relaxes, and her eyes grow wide. How she bites her bottom lip and her fingers dance across his toned chest, warming his cold and undead skin as they linger there.
He pulls her into his embrace and kisses her. Tearing off her clothes while she works on the ties of his trousers. Soon, they are naked, and he has her picked up and against the tree, his hands squeezing tight on the meat of her ass. Lips trail along her neck and collarbone, nipping and teasing, leaving marks as she cries out and whimpers with need.
He doesn't like this part, the foreplay. It is necessary, but tedious. It doesn't give him any pleasure, not really. The sounds, gasps, and whimpers… all sounds of pain and of pleasure. He hates them, the moans and screams. They all blur together over time, all running into each other. It’s mechanical for him, now.
They both fall onto the grass, and she laughs. She’s on top of him and he feels his mask slipping.
Her hands are sitting on his chest, she is straddling him and planting soft kisses on his chest and neck before capturing her mouth with his own.
“You are to be submissive,” Cazador’s voice rings in his head. “Always submissive like the bitch you are, you are to be taken.”
Thanks to the tadpole, he doesn’t have to be submissive anymore. No, he can be dominant for the first time in centuries. He can be the one doing the taking. He can be the one who is in control.
Tav moves to kiss his stomach, but he grabs her gently by the hair and pulls her towards his face. A surprised squeak escapes from her and his hands trail down her sides before grabbing at her hips. He rolls her over onto her back and she looks up at him with nauseating affection. Her chest and cheeks are red and there is sweat starting to bead on her temple. Her lips are curled into a playful smile, her blown pupils give away to her lust.
Astarion hopes she cannot see his complete disgust with her.
The hero. The savior. The beautiful damsel that wants to help every orphan, every needful person she comes across. Where was SHE when I was entombed for a year? Where was SHE when I screamed as my skin was flayed from my body? Where was SHE when I was being forced to perform for Cazador and his guests? Where was SHE when I seduced and fucked my way through every vagrant and vagabond in the lower city? Where was SHE then?!
When he looks at her, he sees flashes of different conquests underneath him. Most, he only ever saw once, but he has to see her every single day. Briefly, he wonders if he can keep the bitterness, he knows he will feel afterwards at bay for as long as their trip lasts.
The look of betrayal in his victim’s eyes still haunts him, when Cazador entered the room, while Astarion swiftly dismissed himself. The way they cried and pleaded for him to stay. He sees them all in her and he can feel the hatred rise.
She is no different than the others. He would have led her back to Cazador so easily, fucked her in the guest room and waited for Cazador to walk in. Cazador would saunter in, usually a bit after they had finished. He would laugh and flash his fangs, his eyes sparkling with bloodthirst. Slinking out of the room, Astarion could hear the begging and pleading from the victim, cries of fear echoing through the hall. Astarion would be dismissed for the night, hidden away in the dormitory where he would curl up under the blankets and try to drown out the cries. What Cazador did with them after he left, he was unsure. He assumed they were drained dry and then left for the staff to deal with the body, but Astarion had learned never to ask questions.
He knows she wouldn't be any different. She would have begged and pleaded for him not to leave her with the monster, and he would have pushed her off him, rolled off the bed, and darted out of the room. Leaving her at the mercy of his master. Cazador would have loved her trusting and naïve nature, he would exploit it.
She’s the same as everyone else.
His mind flashes with the images of all the ones he had taken, all the ones he had used and tossed aside. All the women and men he had bedded. They are all the same.
She's just another. Not the first, and definitely won’t be the last.
"You are to be seen, not heard. You are to be wanted; you are to be taken. You are mine."
"Are you okay?" There is concern in her features, she must have noticed his mind had traveled.
“Yes, I am fine.” He snaps out of it as quickly as it pulls him away and returns to reassure her with kisses and soft caresses.
She furrows her brow and clings to him. “You just seemed to go… elsewhere, is all?”
I want to go somewhere, ANYWHERE ELSE.
"No, I'm right here, darling," he says, his lips moving along her jawline. His kisses placate her, and she throws her head back and moans, his mouth finding her pulse point.
I'm right here, in your arms. Just like so many before you, just like so many to come.
His lips and tongue play with the soft flesh of her throat, and she giggles slightly. A mix of alcohol and lust, he supposes.
Your blood is so sweet, my little do-gooder. Your heart is so pure and kind. So naïve, so trusting, so easily led astray by the promise of a pretty face and a hard cock.
Nails are digging into his arms, and she arches her back in response to his teasing kisses. It’s a dance he has performed so many times, but he is tired of the steps, and he is sick of the music.
He crawls over her body, leaning his face down to suck on one of her erect nipples. Sucking on it, he plays with the sensitive nub with his tongue and he hears her breath hitch in her throat, her small squirms as she holds onto his arms and back.
Astarion has a vision of Cazador, standing over him. He lifts his eyes and swears he sees his master just a few feet in front of him. Cazador’s eyes are red and hungry, his fangs extended past his lips. His pale flesh is ghost-like and translucent.
“Now, that is a woman who wants to take charge,” the vampire lord coos. All at once, he’s in front of him and next to him, purring in Astarion’s ear. “Roll over, like a good boy and submit.”
Astarion feels his whole-body freeze. He is no longer with Tav. He is in a room with Cazador and four other guests. They are all laughing, the women, they are touching his chest, his legs, his groin. The men, they are touching him, too. They are touching him everywhere, and it is not his choice. Frozen and compelled to obey, to be the obedient spawn he was made to be.
"Astarion, stop," Tav whispers.
His hands are gripping her hips tightly, so tight, in fact, that there will be bruises in the morning. He doesn’t remember his hands moving, he doesn't remember moving at all. He doesn't remember anything since—
"Astarion!"
"What?" He blinks.
"You're hurting me."
He looks down at his hands, they are shaking. His entire body is shaking.
He feels sick.
She gently touches his cheek, a gesture meant to calm him. “I’m not really,” she whispers the next part, almost embarrassed. “Wanting it to be rough.”
Astarion pulls himself away, sitting on his heels. He runs his hand through his white hair and stares down at his lap. What is he doing? He can compose himself; this is no different than what he is used to. “I’m sorry, I got a bit carried away.”
He leans back down and kisses her. There is relaxation in her body as his hands find their way back to her, the way her body uncoils, the way her lips become soft and pliant. She opens her mouth and moans, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close as his fingers circle around her swollen clit.
Her kisses are sloppy and drunken, and they are both like and unlike what he is used to. On one hand, she is looking to consume him entirely with her mouth. Their teeth clash, saliva connects them every time one pulls away, her tongue fights his own. On the other hand, he feels a strange passion emitted from her, something more than just lust. It makes him uneasy, and he is thankful when her hands trail down his chest and begin to tease his erection.
It is his turn to moan; he is well-practiced and needy. Mimicking the sound of a man who hasn't been touched in decades, a man who has been starved and deprived of any touch or affection.
You are a good actor, Astarion .
He kisses her again and his fingers pump in and out of her cunt. She is wet, ready for him, and her hips buck. The rhythm of her heartbeat picks up, the sound of her blood rushing through her veins, the smell of her arousal fills the air. His mouth begins to water, and he wants to taste her life’s ichor, but she hasn’t offered herself to him just yet. She ruts against his hand; her head is back, and her eyes closed. There’s a grin on her lips as small moans and hums find their way through.
He doesn’t like it. He doesn't like her face.
Astarion doesn’t want to see her enjoying this, even though he propositioned her.
His free hand trails up her torso and traces her collarbone lazily.
She looks up at him with wide, brown eyes.
Cazador is standing next to him, the vampire lord's long, spider-like fingers running through Astarion's hair. His lips are next to Astarion's ear and he's whispering. "You are to be submissive and always taken."
"What are you doing?" Tav asks, her voice is soft and timid.
He doesn’t know. He is unsure.
"Just, stay still," he orders.
Her expression is a mix of concern and lust. She nods and her eyes roll back into her head as his fingers pump inside of her. He pulls them out, sheeny and slick, and uses her fluids to stroke his length. Her body trembles, her breathing is heavy.
"I need you," she breathes, and he can hear the thump, thump, thumping of her heart beating away in her chest.
He is no longer present with her. He is somewhere else, somewhere dark. The room is cold, he can hear a fire crackling in the distance, the shadows from the flames flickering on the walls.
"Submit."
Cazador is gone and Astarion is on the floor. His hands are tied behind his back, and his head is forced onto a pillow. His master is over him, his breath on his neck. He can smell the blood and death on his master's breath, he can taste it in the air and it both arouses him and makes him sick.
Cazador grabs a handful of his hair and pulls. Astarion's face is lifted off the pillow and the vampire lord hisses.
"Submit."
He hears her whine and looks down at her, he is back with her, now. He has no idea how much time has passed; it could have been seconds or minutes. He isn’t sure. He does not even remember entering her.
She is beautiful, and her cheeks are flushed. Her bottom lip is stuck between her teeth, and she is staring up at him with want. She’s gently caressing his face as he thrusts in and out of her. It’s learned, mechanical. His fingers playing with her swollen clit as her nails dig into his back.
Astarion knows what she wants, and he won't give it to her. Not now.
His hand leaves her cunt and finds her wrist. He pins it over her head and does the same with her other. She whimpers but he ignores it, instead he picks up the pace and moves faster. She's close, but he doesn't want her to climax, he doesn’t want to look at her. He pulls out and she whines with need as he flips her over onto her stomach in the grass. He pushes her head into the dirt and his fingers dig into her hips. He can't see her; all he sees is darkness.
It’s better this way.
She doesn’t argue, she doesn’t try and fight him. No, she just accepts her new position and lets him have his way with her. He takes her hard and fast, his mind is elsewhere. His eyes are closed, but all he can see is Cazador and the guests from long ago. The women, with their hands on his chest, his thighs. Their lips on his cock, their tongues licking at him. The men, their hands all over his body, their cocks in his mouth. He hates them all, and they all blend. They are not Tav, they are not anyone, they are just bodies.
She is crying out; her body is quivering, and her hands claw at the dirt. He doesn’t care, he doesn't want her to cum. She shouldn’t be allowed to enjoy this.
He wants to punish her for something she isn’t even aware of. He wants to punish her because of the life he was forced to live.
She is no different than any other conquest.
He quickens his pace; he just wants to release and get this over with. He can feel her cunt tightening around him, but he doesn’t care. He is not there with her, not in the clearing.
The darkness, the fire, the heat. It is all familiar.
Submit, boy. Be seen and not heard. Submit.
"Stop," she begs, her voice barely above a whisper. "Astarion, please, stop."
It snaps him out of his trance.
He stops.
"I'm sorry," he says, and rolls off her.
He stares up at the sky.
She lies there next to him, panting. Her face is covered in dirt and sweat, and her cheeks are red and hot. “You just…” she sounds so far away. “You’re too rough again. Can you just—" she lays on her back and motions for him to crawl back between her legs.
He does what he is told.
He's always done what he is told.
Always.
She wraps her arms around his shoulders, her legs back around his waist.
"I don't want it rough," she admits. "Please, can you be gentle?"
"I'm sorry, darling," he apologizes. Leaning down, he kisses her sweetly, the way she had kissed him. Her tongue dances with his own and she whimpers softly. "You have such a beautiful body, and I just lost control."
"It's okay," she breathes.
His lips meet her throat, and he kisses her. His hands gently trace her body and her skin goosebumps underneath his touch. He tries to move languidly and slowly, but he can feel the anger building within him. He is frustrated, he is upset, and he wants to hurt her. He didn’t want to look at her.
She cries out and arches her back.
“Look at her, Astarion. Look how easily you can make her bend and writhe. Such a pretty, little thing. What I would do with her if you brought her home to me. She would be delightful , wouldn’t she?”
He grunts as her hands cling to his forearms, and she inhales sharply. Her mouth is open in a silent cry.
“Such a sweet girl, a hero. So selfless, so willing. So easily manipulated, so easily bent to your will. She trusts you, she cares for you, and all you can do is think about ways you can hurt her.”
Her legs are shaking.
“You should bring her home, boy. We could have fun with her, don't you think?”
She's begging him for release. He can tell she’s right on the edge and he knows exactly how to keep her there.
“How pretty she would look in chains, what sweet songs she would sing as I cut and sliced into her flesh.”
He's disgusted by her, but he cannot figure out why. She doesn't know that her entire existence makes him ill. Her smile is the most insufferable thing.
"Please," she pleads. "I can't—"
“I would feed from her, and I would fuck you afterwards. Just the thought of it, of the sweet nectar pouring out of her as I thrust into you.”
Then, she lifts slightly and pulls her hair over one shoulder, rolling her head so her neck is exposed. “You can feed if you want,” she says meekly.
Astarion must hold himself back if he bites her. His mouth waters, his fangs are throbbing. The smell of her blood and the sound of her heart pumping it through her veins, the pulse that he can feel under her flesh, wrapped around his cock. He is so hungry.
He's ravenous.
His tongue runs across the flesh of her throat, and she moans, her legs wrap tighter around him.
“I would watch her bleed out onto the floor, and you would take my cock until you could do nothing but scream. You would beg for more, like the filthy slut you are.”
Astarion closes his eyes, he can taste her flesh.
His fangs graze and tease her neck, looking for the perfect entry point.
“Do it, Astarion. Let me have her.”
She is trembling underneath him; her fingers holding tight onto his back and she is pleading for him.
He could kill her. He could drain her and leave her body in the grove and flee. He would never have to see her again.
But, he can’t. Not yet.
He sinks his teeth into her throat, and she cries out in pain as his fangs break her skin. Blood rushes into his mouth and it tastes so sweet, unlike anything he has ever had before. She is a delicacy, something rare and delicious. He sucks and drinks greedily, and he feels his mind relax. He’s holding her tightly by the hair and thrusting into her, her heels digging into his calves. She's calling his name, and the blood is warm and sweet on his tongue.
She screams and her body stiffens. Her cunt squeezes his cock, and she is convulsing and spasming beneath him. He can taste her ecstasy in her blood and his own orgasm hits him, he is spilling inside of her womb and forces himself to unlatch from her neck.
Her head falls back, and he can see her throat is coated in her own blood, it drips down and pools on the ground beneath her. Her eyes are rolled back into her head, her jaw slack and lips parted. Hands are still tangled in his hair and her legs are still wrapped around his waist.
She is beautiful.
Her blood is so sweet.
He rolls over and pulls his pants on.
His body feels light, his mind is clear.
She is lying next to him, her eyes are open, and she is staring at the stars. There’s contentment and bliss in her expression and she turns her head towards him.
He wants to kiss her.
He wants to kill her.
He sits on a rock and stares at her. She is sleepy and happy and succumbing to the post-coital high. He doesn’t know what to say so he does not say anything at all.
It is quiet between them, and she does not ask for him to lay with her. Instead, she curls onto her side and begins to drift off.
He waits until she is asleep, her chest rising and falling with her soft, rhythmic breathing. Once she is asleep, he pulls his knees up to his chest and stares into the forest. He can feel the blood coursing through his body, he can hear her heartbeat, still, but it is slow and steady.
He can finally think.
She is beautiful and he hates her.
He hates her because she is everything that he is not.
She is strong and good, kind and selfless. She is righteous and moral, a hero.
She is too soft hearted, and it is her greatest flaw. It will get them killed, eventually. She will put their lives in danger because she cannot let them go and he hates her for it.
The truth is though, that Astarion hates himself the most.