Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

„I might have a solution“, you proclaimed by a way of greeting.

“You what?” A surprised laugh escaped Astarion’s throat. Having witnessed you talk to the people around you, he was fully aware social interactions were not your forte, but this was a peculiar way of starting a conversation, even for you.

“You heard me. I was thinking and-“

“Did it hurt?”, Astarion interrupted you teasingly, making you huff in mock indignation. He relished getting under your skin, watching your cheeks redden. He loved indulging in the addicting scent of your blood pooling in such an … accessible place.

“No, it didn’t”, you spat out quickly before continuing to explain. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me that night in the graveyard.”

“I remember”, Astarion purred, his eyelids drooping at the reminder of the night you’ve shared making love on his grave. The grave of the man he once was.  

He could practically watch you relive the memory on your open, unguarded face, your eyes glazing over in the recollection of that particular sacrilege. Your lips parted for a moment and you licked your lips absentmindedly. Astarion watched, enthralled. Quickly, you gathered your composure, though, and fought your mind back to the topic at hand, staring at him pointedly.

“Don’t distract!”

“I’m not the one bringing up our more notable exploits unprovoked, darling. That’s all you.”

“I meant“, another sharp look at his smirking face, “what we talked about. About you trying to learn how to live again. Without him. Without Cazador.”

The mention of his former tormentor’s name sobered Astarion. He still wasn’t sure if he had made the right decision, freeing thousands of hungry, newborn vampire spawn. Shamefully, he was also doubting if forgoing the Rite of Profane Ascension, giving up all that power, had been worth it. With the might the Rite would have afforded him, he would never have had to fear again, would have had the power to well and truly be free.

The more he thought about it, the more his gut churned, knotting itself up as he explored every possible – well, now impossible – repercussion of taking the power Cazador coveted for himself. The fact that in his most base animalistic mind, he saw all of those people as the necessary means to an ultimately higher end, shamed him. It was disgraceful to admit, but some part of his mind cared for nothing but his freedom, even if it meant sacrificing thousands. It wondered how his life would look now, if he had chosen differently. Would he be happy? Free? Or would he be disgusted with himself? Would you?

“This is what I’m talking about”, you said, waving your hand in his general direction.

“What do you mean?”, Astarion asked, brought back from his reverie.  

“I mean your little stints of whatever this was. When your eyes glaze over and your mind is on a wholly different Plane, probably self-flagellating over a choice that can’t be taken back.”

He wasn’t daft, of course. He knew that people noticed whenever he retreated deep into his mind but the fact that you knew precisely what he was thinking about was unexpected.

Astarion considered you for a moment, watching your open gaze and soft smile. The fact that you knew exactly what occupied his thoughts, what kept his mind spinning in dizzying circles … it felt intimate, somehow.

“You’re right, you know. About the self-flagellation.”

“I know”, you said matter-of-factly. Astarion’s lips pulled into a gentle smile at that. Your cool confidence in him, your firm belief his mind wouldn’t shatter at the mention of his past almost made him believe it himself, too.

“So, what’s the point of our little conversation? Not that I don’t enjoy talking to you, darling, but do get to it.”

“I was just about to say, but you keep interrupting me!”, you huffed and waited to check if he had anything else to say. He placed a look of perfect innocence on his face which made you narrow your eyes in suspicion but you continued nonetheless.

“What if”, you suddenly sounded nervous, “you could feel what it’s like to be powerful? To have authority over people?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if there was a way for you to experience the feeling the Rite would have given you without hurting anyone? At least not really?”, you hedged.

“Not really?”

“What if they consented to the hurt?”, you murmured, cheeks flushing. Heat rose in your face and the rush of hot blood to your face was intoxicating. Astarion took some time to drink the scent in, to celebrate the essence of your life.

“Ah, I see. I gather you’d be the willing, consenting”, Astarion emphasized the word in a way that made your face turn a deeper red, “participant? Is that where this is going, darling?”, he drawled. He closed in on you, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you closer until you were only a hand’s breadth apart.

“Yes and no. It doesn’t even have to be sexual if you don’t want it to be.”

“And you’re sure this has nothing to do with the delightful little noises you’ve made when that priest of Loviatar used his methods on you, back in the goblin camp?”, Astarion teased, his hands roving up your body, stopping right underneath your breasts. His hands spanned your ribcage, and he squeezed. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel the pressure, reminding you he was a predator, and you could just as well be his prey.

“No. I mean yes. I mean-“ you ripped yourself free from his hands, stepped back and leveled him with a gaze. “Of course I would enjoy myself. I wouldn’t have offered it otherwise. But what this is really about-“ You sobered. “is that I don’t want you lusting after a choice that would’ve made you lose yourself. I’d much rather you inoculate yourself with the feeling you crave, so you can free yourself from this vague sense of regret. So many choices you make are still influenced by him and you won’t be truly free until you find a way to erase his presence from your mind. Let me try to find a way to help.”

“And you think hurting you would?”, Astarion asked thoughtfully. A pause. “I’ve done that before, you know, to people who asked for it. Anything so I could get them to come with me to Cazador’s palace. It didn’t feel … good. I had been excited about it at first, thinking I might take revenge in my own twisted little way but all it did was make me realize that I was subservient not only to Cazador but to them, too, even in dominance.”

“Forget it, then. We won’t do anything you don’t want to do”, you assured.

“But”, he leveled you with a playful glare, chastising you for interrupting his train of thought, “this could be different. I’m willing to try, if only to get some more of those lovely little squeals out of you.” He emphasized his words with playful little taps on your nose.

“Think about it. I don’t want you to push yourself for my sake. I’m perfectly happy with whatever you decide to do.”

“I do. Want to try, I mean”, Astarion said earnestly.

“Are you sure? You can change your mind at any point”, you insisted.

“I know”, Astarion said and surprised himself with the fact that it was true.

Chapter Text

You fumbled with the key to open the Librarian’s room at Sharess’ Caress.

When you had told him that you convinced Mamzell Amira to rent the room to you, Astarion laughed a hearty, boisterous laugh. “That will teach me to underestimate you, darling. Spending the night in a brothel, how positively debauched.” Your cheeks had turned red, and you had hurried to explain yourself but as always, he enjoyed seeing you flustered. There was something about knocking you off balance, about seeing your confidence falter for only him, that made a part of him sing in delight.

As you both entered the room, a gust of warm, fragrant air hit Astarion’s nose. On his left, there was a slightly raised platform, a filled, steaming tub standing on top of it. Judging by the smell, the water contained flowers and herbs, wafting the smell of lavender and something a bit earthier throughout the room. He looked at you questioningly.

“I may or may not have asked Mamzell Amira to take a little extra time preparing the room”, you admitted sheepishly.

He wanted to tease you for it, but the joke somehow got stuck in his throat. This was thoughtful. Prepared. It made him feel … safe. He used to be the one to make plans, to calculate the best course of action for seducing his victims to ultimately bring them to Cazador. The fact that you took this part of your time together into your own hands, prioritizing his comfort, assured him that he could open himself to the feeling you were asking him to explore, to giving himself to the sensations.

“Thank you”, he said, simply.

You strode across the room, toward the bed, elevated on another platform. It looked inviting and cozy, dressed in dark cottons and illuminated by a handful of candles on either side. There was plenty of room in front of it, a rug in deep reds and blues filling it and making the space look warm. Astarion felt at ease. While it was not the Upper City salons he’d been used to in another life, it was comfortable and homely and decidedly … you. The only things that alluded to the nature of the room where several implements displayed proudly on the walls left and right of the bed, some for binding, some for spanking. Astarion cocked his head, wondering if you would like him – let him – use some of them on you.

Misinterpreting his look, you said: “Mamzell Amira assured me they are cleaned thoroughly after every use. I paid her a bit extra to clean them again. If-“, you emphasized the word, “you want to use them.”

He nodded and walked over to the wall where he fingered a tool that had strings of leather attached to its handle. The ends were knotted and Astarion remembered the red markings they left behind on the back of a man he had used it on before. He didn’t recall much from that particular encounter, so he had to wonder. Would he be able to smell the blood rush to the surface of your skin in the same way that he smelled you blush? If he bit one of the markings he made, would the blood come rushing to his thirsty mouth faster? Would it be warmer? Would it be as eager for him as he was for it?

With a start, Astarion turned away and looked at you standing in the middle of the room, regarding him carefully. “Is there anything you don’t want me to do?”, he asked, his voice uncharacteristically low and throaty, even to him.

“I- I don’t think so”, you said, your voice having a breathy quality to it.

This gave him pause. Astarion wasn’t sure if you were truly ready, if this was your answer to his question. Everyone had limits, you just didn’t know yours yet. He would not disrespect your body in the same way that his had been, even if it meant depriving himself of what he was beginning to realize he wanted.

Instead, he grew taller, more present, and prowled towards you, levelling you with an intense stare. “Wrong answer. Think again”, he commanded.

You faltered. You stood before him for a moment, seemingly wracking your brain as he watched you. It was delightful how seriously you were taking this task he gave you. You wanted to please him, wanted to be what he needed. Good.

“I don’t care much for … bodily excretions”. You all but mumbled the last part, that adorable blush making its way to the surface again. Astarion took a deep breath, letting the tempting smell of your blood mingle with the fragrances in the room and it made his head spin in pleasure.

“It’s a start”, he chuckled throatily. He walked towards the bed and sat on the edge of it. “Come to me.”

You walked toward him woodenly, even though he could see your usually tight shoulders relax. Interesting. Astarion took your hands and pulled you towards him, leaving you standing over him while he sat on the bed.

“If I ever do anything, that you don’t want me to, darling, just-“

“say the safeword, I know. I’ve read about it.”

“Read?”, Astarion cocked an eyebrow. “I think I need to give the library you frequent a visit” he joked. “But no, you don’t need a safeword. Just tell me to stop and I’ll stop. If your mouth is otherwise indisposed”, he directed a heated look at your mouth that quickened your breathing, “you just tap my thigh, or anything you can reach, twice.”

“Alright”, you nodded.

“Show me.”

“Astarion, I know how to tap-“

“I said”, he emphasized the word like a teacher chastising a child, “show me.”

Your eyes on him turned hazy and your lips parted slightly, and you tapped his shoulder twice, like he instructed.

“Good. Now-”, Astarion stood up, bringing your bodies together and pressing a featherlight, lingering kiss on your lips, “on your knees, darling.”

Chapter Text

You all but fell to your knees in front of Astarion, obeying him wordlessly. He smoothed a hand over your hair, taking special note of the texture of it, the silky feeling under his fingers. If he was going to do this, he would not let his mind overpower him. He wanted to try, truly try, to give himself to you, much like you were giving yourself to him.

As his hand reached the side of your face, he cupped it gently and your eyes fell shut automatically, almost instinctively, and you pressed your face into his hand slightly, touching him as much as he was touching you. Astarion considered your serene face, the trust it belied and let out a shaky breath. Then, he splayed his fingers, enveloping half of your skull with his hands and let his thumb rest on your lips. They parted, extending an unspoken invitation. He swiped his digit across them, his touch first featherlight, then more demanding, and watched in fascination as your flesh moved with his caress. The way it yielded perfectly for him, would you do the same?  

He took his hand away and chuckled hoarsely at the small pout that accompanied the gesture.

“Look at me.”

You opened your eyes quickly and directed them at him towering over you. From his vantage point, they seemed huge and almost pleading. They were captivating, drawing him in with their openness, and Astarion began to wonder if maybe you were pleading for something, but didn’t yet know what. It was an exhilarating thought, imagining that you came to him to fulfil a need you yourself couldn’t even name yet. And that he could indulge or deny you in whatever way he saw fit.

“Open your mouth, my love.”

You opened your mouth dutifully and your gaze briefly flitted to his trousers before you trained it on him again. A sharp laugh escaped his throat. “Not yet, you eager little thing.” Instead, he laid his thumb on your tongue and pressed down. Instinctively, your throat worked, and your mouth opened wider, which elicited a sharp exhale through your nose. Astarion pressed his digit deeper into your mouth and you took careful, measured breaths to try and handle the intrusion. He kept the pressure on your tongue as he clasped your chin with the rest of his hand, using it to direct your face first to the left, then to the right, examining you closely.

“Look at you. So beautiful. So trusting”, Astarion crooned. He removed his thumb from your mouth and wiped it dry on your cheek in what could conceivably have been a loving gesture, had it not left behind a trail of your saliva. You looked debauched like this, your face straining with trying to keep your gaze on him while your eyes were beginning to glaze over in lust … or serene obedience. It was a heady feeling, being the only one who ever got to see you this way. Your companions got to see you as a seasoned adventurer, a champion in the fight against the Absolute, but he was the only one who saw the part of you that you kept carefully hidden. The wanton, desperate part, that preferred to follow than to lead.  And Astarion, he would be your leader who would give you what you needed, while taking what he wanted.

“Stand up.” His voice sounded rough.

You obeyed and stood before him, your heavy breaths and hooded lids betraying your arousal. It was intoxicating. Astarion fingered the neckline of the light tunic you were wearing, relishing the warmth that your body infused the fabric with. He pulled it to the side, exposing your bare neck down to your clavicle and traced the contours of your throat with a tender touch, savoring the delectable little gasp that escaped you when his cold fingers met your feverish skin.

“My, what delicious little noises you make”, he purred. “Let’s see if we can get more of those out of you, yes?” He pointed towards the bed behind him. “Undress and lay on the bed, face down.”

You hesitated, your hands reaching towards him, as if they were aching to feel him, missing the cool marble of his touch.

“Tut, tut, darling.” He caught them, gripping tight at your wrists. “We ask before we touch”, Astarion chastised, before he imbued his voice with stern authority. “Now do as you’re told, little love. I won’t ask twice.”

Surprise flashed in your eyes, before a hurried, tense expression took over your face and you scrambled to obey, evidently trying your hardest to not upset him. You undressed, your movements neither careful nor seductive as you hastily shed your clothes and dumped them on the floor unceremoniously. Your focus seemed to be solely on the task at hand and it made Astarion hum in satisfaction. You were being such a good little pet for him, your obedience the richest taste on his tongue.

As you lay down on the bed, Astarion took a step back to admire your form for a while, letting himself be drawn in by the hypnotizing rhythm of your heartbeat. Taking his time, he counted your steady breaths as he roved his eyes over your body, carefully mapping your curves with his gaze. He studied the contours of your back, your dormant muscles, and the way your soft skin stretched over them. He let his eyes linger on your nipped waist that reminded him of paintings by the old masters. He admired your supple buttocks and thighs, remembering their velvety feel under his hands, his fangs. He ached to touch them, feel their trembling softness as they invited him to the place he wanted to lose himself in.  

“Spread your legs. Show yourself to me”, Astarion said hoarsely.  

He could smell the blood that rushed to your face as it heated in embarrassment. You hesitated to do as you were told, his command seemingly causing an internal fight, but his huff of impatience seemed to spur you on and you quickly opened your legs. When you finally did, he could see that your sex was glistening with your arousal, and he savored the hiss that escaped you as the cold air met your wet, heated flesh.

“Enjoying yourself, are you?”, he chuckled darkly, though the low throatiness of his voice betrayed his own lust.

“Astarion, please”, you urged.

“Patience, darling”, he drawled. “Let me take a good look at what is mine.”  

On the bed, you gasped in heated surprise as more blood rushed to your cheeks.

“My, it seems I’ve hit a nerve there”, Astarion purred. “Is that what you want, little love?” He stalked closer to where you lay, placing featherlight touches on your calves that worked their way up your legs at a slow, tantalizing pace. “To give yourself to me completely?” He worked his fingers into the softness of your thighs, marveling at the way your flesh yielded to him. Experimentally, he squeezed them and watched raptly as his fingers dug into you, his cool stone against your warm silk. He pressed harder, eliciting a quiet hiss of discomfort. “To be owned?”

“Yes”, you sighed, and the word sounded like relief, like a hushed sin finally confessed.

“Then be mine”, Astarion said, almost reverently, as the palm of his hand came down sharply on your thigh.

Chapter Text

The sharp sound of the slap, along with your answering yelp of surprise pierced the air. Your back arched and your hips pressed into the bed as your body seemed to want to evade the assault. Soon however, your muscles relaxed, releasing their tension as the sharp sting subsided and left nothing but warmth in its wake. Astarion watched in rapt attention as the heat under your skin rose to the surface and reddened the back of your thigh.

“Don’t forget, darling. This is what you wanted”, he crooned and leaned over to lick the spot, relishing the heat of your skin against his cold tongue. Your leg twitched in response, your muscles reacting instinctively to the contrast of sensations, and a barely perceptible sigh of contentment escaped you that made Astarion smirk in self-satisfaction. He had known that you would enjoy a bit of pain, the anticipation and release of it, had not forgotten the noises you made for Abdirak and the pang of jealousy that pierced his chest as he watched another man take from you so easily what he had thought he’d never be able to have. He would never have admitted to it back then, but he knew, watching you, that you would either be the greatest gift he would ever receive or a wicked curse that would haunt him for the rest of his miserable existence. Right now, though, smelling your blood through your lamentably still intact skin while it tempted him with its divine song, he wondered if maybe you were both.

“You know”, he pondered while tracing your skin, “I think you underestimate what I am. You see in me the enigmatic, charming rake”, your answering snort earned you a pinch to the thigh, “but what you seem to ignore is the monster lurking beneath.”

“Astarion, you’re not a monster”, you protested, spinning your head around, searching for his eyes. He smiled.

“But I am, my dear. See, right now, I want nothing more than to pierce this delectable little thigh of yours and suck you dry until you beg for mercy. Maybe continue even then. Take everything that you have to give.”

“But you don’t.”

“No, I don’t. But do you realize how hard it is? To go against my very basest instincts, to never sate the gnawing hunger, the tempest inside of me, only tease it with your heavenly taste?”

Your eyes lowered and Astarion wasn’t certain if you felt chastised or afraid. Frankly, he welcomed both. A part of him, the one that still yearned for the power the Rite had offered, even relished the thought of you fearing him. Yes, you should be afraid, should worry what he could do to the world – and you – if he didn’t leash himself so tightly.

“Every day, you tempt me. Every day, you test my self-control with the very thing that you are. Every day, I suffer.” Your eyes shot to his again, but he ignored your questioning look. “It almost makes me wish I were a good man, not put you in danger, leave.”

You started turning around, ready to interrupt the direction his thoughts were taking, but Astarion pushed your shoulder back to the bed, and kissed it with heartbreaking tenderness. Then, he pulled away and stood, strode to the wall where he had seen the flogger and took it off the hook. He let the cool leather strings glide through his hand, considering their weight as he imagined the delightful squeals that would escape your throat when they’d make contact with your flesh. When he turned around, your puzzled gaze was on his face, before your eyes lowered to the flogger. Astarion felt his lips ache with the need to smirk but he schooled his features into a stern mien.
“But I am not a good man, am I?”

He stalked toward you and carefully ran the flogger’s leather cords over your body, caressing you with them slowly, lovingly. They spread and draped around your form, teasing your contours with their supple smoothness as they tickled your heated skin and left goosebumps in their wake.

“And I won’t let you go, either. So I think”, he added pensively, “that it would only be fair for you to suffer, too. An eye for an eye, so to say. Don’t you agree, darling?”

You nodded keenly, causing a malicious chuckle in Astarion’s throat. Your eagerness was endearing, if a bit misplaced, considering what he planned to do with you.

“Let’s see how long you can keep this enthusiasm up, little love.”

He drew the flogger back and released it onto your right buttock with the flick of his wrist. The bulk of the strings barely elicited a hiss but when their knotted ends wrapped around your cheek and connected to your skin in a stinging barrage, your high-pitched squeal echoed in the fragrant air. Astarion chuckled darkly as your muscles flexed and your skin bloomed in different shades of red. Quickly, he repeated the motion, giving you no time to catch your breath. Your squeal was louder this time, surprise mixed with the burn of the knots hitting the exact same area as before. Your hips undulated, as if unsure if they wanted to escape, relax into the warmth or tense in preparation for the next hit.

“Floggers can be devilish little instruments”, Astarion mused. “They can be perfectly harmless, tender as a caress, but in the right hands, their sting is cruel.”
As if to demonstrate, he struck again, this time across the back of your thighs, where he had slapped you before. You gasped, your back arching, and he landed three or four more strokes in quick succession, causing you to cry out before the noise melted into a sigh. The sound sang to him almost as much as your blood did. On the next strike he doled out, your voice broke on its cry and your chest heaved, trying its hardest to help you breathe through the pain, before you sagged into the mattress again.

“Look at you, my darling. Pain becomes you”, Astarion crooned before landing another particularly vicious hit and he admired the different shades of light red and deep pink on your skin as you howled and buried your fingers in the sheets, your white knuckles holding on to them like a lifeline.
You did not, however, complain or ask him to stop, nor give him the impression that what he was asking of you was too much. No, you took what he gave you like the good little girl he knew you were, like the obedient pet that nobody got to see but him. There was something incredibly powerful about watching you, who had negotiated and butchered her way through the clusterfuck that was the Cult of the Absolute, spread before him, whimpering for him and only him. The thought spread through his body like sunlight, leaving arousal in its wake.

“Can you do one a couple more for me?”, he asked any you nodded your head tiredly.

He let the flogger assault your prone form, your buttocks, your thighs, your lower back. Every time you hissed, yelped, cried out. Astarion found it all glorious. Soon delivered one last strike, not holding back. He wanted you to feel this tomorrow, wanted you to feel him whenever you sat down, wanted to push you, to break you, to see you beg – just like he was pushed, broken and made to beg. Though not for revenge, no. This wasn’t Astarion inflicting his own suffering on you. This was reverence, assurance that he could take from you, make you do what he wanted, because you let him. The pain he delivered was in worship and awe of you, your trust for him and the man he could be, as long as you helped guide his hand.

As the leather strings spread on your skin with a loud snap that made you bury your head in your hands and forced a strained howl from you, Astarion discarded the flogger to the side and sat next to you on the mattress. He caressed your battered skin and relished in the little noises you made, the sharp hisses and relieved sighs whenever he ran his hands across a particularly tender spot. As he brushed the last of the pain away, a soft, airy moan escaped your lips that quickly became his new favorite sound.