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petit-etoile · 5 months

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Astarion is a taco bell worker who has not had a single day off in 2 years because his manager can't be assed to teach anyone else how to close. He longs to one day see the sun again and be free of these twisted and evil taco nights

in motion, in 3D

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 7,156 content warnings: please do not have sex in parking lots !! but anyway, all characters are in university & tacobellstarion works to pay for his law books, i use a lot of pet names from both spawn & ascended astarion, but he's not a vampire in this universe so his morality is mostly in tact, nearly 7k of pure smut other tags: alternate universe - college/university, porn what plot/porn without plot, pwp, established relationship, semi-public s.ex, b.lowjobs, riding, c.reampie, shameless smut, taco bell, gender neutral tav archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia, @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness be added to the taglist here

summary: Fast food jobs may as well be from Avernus itself, yet Astarion clocks in every day for a night-shift at Taco Bell in his silly little purple hat and his silly little purple uniform.

College is already hard enough. Add in a job on the side that requires you to stay up long before even the partiest of party kids have gone to sleep, and life might start to seem even bleaker. Astarion may not have gone out of state for his college adventures, but it was still hard. The expense of the university, the expense of staying on campus, and the expense of wanting to afford textbooks unfortunately resulted in this.

He takes a long, exhausted look around the cluttered Taco Bell and considers sobbing on the floor. Despite all the work put in to make the building seem pristine, the shop always seems as though it’s been through some soft of galactic turbulence by the time the night has ended. The last thing Astarion wants to see is a catty text from the day shift saying things were still dirty. He might snap his phone if he sees Enver Gortash (saved in his phone as DO NOT ANSWER!!!) texting him at a bright and early seven in the morning.

Fast food jobs may as well be from Avernus itself, yet Astarion clocks in every day for a night-shift at Taco Bell in his silly little purple hat and his silly little purple uniform. He hates it — He loathes it more than anything else, but it’s the only thing that keeps him from sinking further into nearing-graduation depression. This is the only way he stays sane.

He slips his phone out of his pocket and taps in his password, a cute little anniversary date, and checks his text messages before anyone can rat him out to the team manager in the back. There’s a Snapchat that he can’t check and a few text messages, and he presses on them so desperately he thinks he might be going a little insane. It’s only been a few hours and yet…

LOML: i'm coming to get u!!

Astarion smiles so wide he thinks his face might crack. It makes him giggle, swing his feet, twirl his hair around his finger. He feels very baby girl, as Karlach liked to put it. He types a quick ‘MY HERO’ before sliding his phone back in his pocket. That one text is all he needed to hold on for the last thirty minutes of work.

‘Alright!’ Wyll calls from the back. He looks up from his new shiny Apple watch. ‘Last customer is out, so you know what that means. Closing time. Let’s get this show on the road!’

Closing time is somehow the best part of Astarion’s day and the worst. The best, because he knows who will be waiting for him outside to pick him up as soon as everything is neat and tidied inside. The worst, because someone has to clean the bathrooms and he refuses to do it. There’s a bleakness, a despair to the Taco Bell bathrooms. It truly takes the world’s strongest to venture forth and clean them, and Astarion’s recently had a manicure. He scours the room critically before his sight lands on his second favorite co-worker ever!

‘Jenevelle,’ he purrs, turning to look at his younger co-worker. ‘It’s your turn to clean the bathrooms.’

‘It isn’t,’ she says snootily, pushing an Airpod into her ear to drown him out. ‘I did it yesterday. The men’s room is a crime against humanity.’

Astarion frowns. ‘I’m older. You do it. I refuse.’

'Just because you're like, seventy-something and still working at Taco Bell doesn't mean that's what the rest of us want to do,' Jenevelle says, blowing an obnoxiously large bubble with her gum. She slides off the counter and rolls her eyes. 'You're cringe.'

'Bold,' Astarion says, scandalized at only a young twenty-four years of age, 'considering that's coming from someone who put down the name Shadowheart on her application form and dresses like Olivia Rodrigo. Now, go clean the ladies' bathrooms before I feel inclined to point out you have nasolabial folds at eighteen.'

Shadowheart gasps in mock horror, putting a hand to her mouth. She rushes to get the cleaning supplies and does as she was told, but it doesn’t feel like a victory. Astarion is almost certain he’s going to wake up to a text from Gale laughing about how the story is being shared on a small indie podcast. It’s enough to send shivers down Astarion’s spine, but not enough to offer to swap places with Shadowheart. He goes back to petulantly sorting the hot sauce packets.

He pockets one mocking saying ‘I’m Your Main Squeeze!’ and shoves the containers back from where they came from. It’s easy closing, he tells himself. If closing were any easier, the morning shift wouldn’t complain so much. It’s what he has to tell himself as he wipes down the counter.

It’s hard to hold onto hope during these tough taco hours. Astarion just checked his phone, but if he were to check it again, he’s almost certain not even a minute would have passed. No matter how hard he scrubs the counter, everything smells like refried beans. His hair smells like refried beans. His shirt smells like refried beans. His skin must smell like refried beans. It’s a nightmare.

‘Dude, I cannot wait to get out of here,’ Wyll complains, coming to lean on the counter. He begins pretending to sort packets too. ‘Do you have any plans, Astarion?’

‘Ravengard,’ Astarion says patiently, ‘it is three in the morning. My plan is to sleep.’

‘Serious about that beauty sleep?’

‘Dead serious.’

Wyll hums. ‘The rest of us were going to go out for a drink. We wanted to know if you wanted to come with us. You know, to let off steam.’

Astarion considers it the same way one considers eating leftovers. He thinks about it then thinks about the sage old rule: There is nothing open after three in the morning besides jail cells and iHop. He decides against it. Doesn’t want to risk the price of bail after a night of drinking.

Besides, there’s someone coming to pick him up anyway. The thought of you crosses his mind and he can’t help but feel somewhat giddy about it. Between all the work from school and the stress of trying to make Burrito Supremes, you make going through the hardship of closing every single night worth it.

He’s supposed to be doing something, but Astarion can’t remember what it was that Wyll told him needed extra attention at the beginning of his shift or what closing a store entails anymore. He takes out his phone one more time and looks at his screen so he can memorize his screensaver which is a cute photo of you asleep in his shirt and drooling.

‘Ugh, you’re so happy it’s gross,’ Wyll says, wrinkling his nose.

‘Oh please,’ Astarion snorts. ‘As if you and Lae’zel aren’t sickening.’

If Astarion is being completely honest, almost all couples are. Somehow, the two of you don’t get to avoid that connotation. He remembers when you first started dating. You celebrated one week of dating, then two, then every month, then every other month just because it delighted you to do so. Astarion’s reputation is that he’s a prickly, unkind asshole which isn’t entirely too far from the truth, but the difference is that you are you, and you deserve all the nice things he can give.

But before anyone can complain about Astarion being sappy again, he slides his phone into his pocket and goes about his closing to-do list. He fusses over Karlach’s dishes. After working at a fast food restaurant, he’s pretty sure he’ll never eat at one again — but what the public doesn’t know what hurt them. They’re clean enough to anyone terribly concerned about it.

Isobel is hastily cleaning the floors. She and Aylin will never beat the grossest couple allegations, but Astarion thinks she’s the cutest thing in the world with her big eyes and fluffy eyelashes and perfectly smudged eyeliner. Once, he found Isobel and Shadowheart in the bathroom comparing shopping bags at Ulta instead of working the drive through. Astarion never told, but they owed him favors for two weeks in a row. Those were the best two weeks of his life.

Astarion does, however, fuss over the cleanliness of the lobby. The store itself feels permanently smudged in grease and smells about as nice as a locker room, but he refuses to be in the kind of establishment that refuses to clean the soda dispenser nozzles. He watches Wyll clean them then cleans them again himself.

And lastly, very lastly, Astarion gathers all the mops and brooms and rags and towels and puts them back from whence they came. Isobel finishes checking the filters to make sure they’re spotless about the same time Shadowheart comes miserably from the bathrooms with a look of utter despair on her features. He should probably feel bad, but he’s just thankful he didn’t have to do it himself. He wonders if he can somehow convince Wyll to do them tomorrow… but that’s a thought for another day, and Astarion only has one thing on his mind now that the store is closed.

You.

Thank the gods, it’s you. You’re a blessing in disguise if you’ll ever admit it. You willingly wake up in the middle of the night to come pick up Astarion, and you’ve never complained about it despite it being well beyond your bedtime. It’s embarrassing to admit that it’s something the both of you look forward to. A little private time away from dorm roommates and their friends who all like to crowd into impossibly tiny rooms because they haven’t spent enough time with each other throughout the day somehow.

The thought of you puts a pep in Astarion’s step. He checks his phone one last time to read your latest text message and feels like his heart is about to soar out of his throat. He bounces from foot to foot impatiently while waiting at the door for Wyll to come see everyone out, but as soon as that door opens, he’s darting across the parking lot to your familiar car. He never gets in a hurry for anything, but it’s different tonight.

You watch the other couples scurry to their own vehicles for their own safety. Shadowheart rides with Karlach and they’ll hang out at Rolan and Lia’s until Viconia DeVir spam texts her enough that she comes home. Wyll races to Lae’zel’s slick sports car, and seeing them make it across the parking lot is all you really care about. You turn your devout attention back to Astarion.

One might be wondering what you’ve been up to tonight, but it’s an easy answer. You were studying for your many quizzes and tests which infuriate you to no end, because college is hard and Astarion can’t help you study. Not that he would be that helpful. Luckily, Gale and Halsin are astute professors who actually don’t mind helping students — and they both have a you shaped soft spot that makes it impeccably easy for you to convince them to tutor you. They helped you go over your coursework and somehow managed to play footsie with one another under the table at the same time, although Gale kept bumping into you by accident and Halsin kept laughing. Either way, you made it through two hours of intense studying in just enough time to pick up Astarion from work.

You almost wish he had helped you study instead, but… He’s smart, coy, a future lawmaker in the making, but Astarion is gorgeous. His talents are wasted on learning laws and balancing books. To say that you wouldn’t get anything done if Astarion helped you study is an understatement. One might think you innocent enough with a cute picture of you and Astarion as your lock screen, but opening up your phone shows one of your most recent endeavors. A risque photograph of Astarion’s cum on your stomach in black-and–white to make it less scandalous, of course.

He should be a model styled in the latest Gucci and coveted by all, but you’re also increasingly biased. You’re wearing a baggy band sweater and sweatpants when he comes around the corner of the restaurant, and he’s so incredibly cute in his stupid Taco Bell uniform that you can’t help but wiggle in your seat. You unlock the door as he comes bolting to the passenger side, and he climbs in and meets you halfway for a kiss.

‘You smell like tomatoes,’ you laugh.

‘Oh, I suppose I’ll walk home then,’ he snorts.

Astarion always comes home smelling of Crunchwrap Supremes and Baja Blasts. Underneath the smell of grated cheese and refried beans and offensive-to-the-nose lemon, he smells like his personalized cologne too. You sniff him unapologetically and try to not feel giddy as he giggle-snorts his way back into the passenger seat.

You watch as he flings his hat into your backseat and begins ruffling his hair back into the usual coiled, curly hairstyle he’s usually sporting. You watch, with a quiet smile, and fight the yawn that’s been plaguing you since you set out to study anatomy around midnight.

It would be downright cringe to admit you want to study his anatomy since he smells like Taco Bell, but the uniform looks so damn good on him. It’s dorky in a way that makes your heart race. When he stretches, his shirt untucks a little and a peek of his belly shines through. That makes what you’re feeling ten times worse.

Maybe it says more about you than it does Astarion, but he would be attractive even if he was wearing a paper bag. You’ve heard the way the other students gossip about him. They like his long legs or his lean neck, or his loud personality. He’s a self-proclaimed short king with a wicked smile and a dangerous sense of humor. That’s why, no matter what he’s wearing or what he’s been doing, the sight of him makes your heart seize into your throat. You want him. You want him bad enough that you glance around the parking lot to make sure everyone is gone.

‘Was work difficult tonight?’ you ask.

‘The customers,’ Astarion groans, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. ‘Why do thirty seven high schoolers come into Taco Bell before close to order everything off the menu? It takes forever! And they’re so weird, shoving paper from their straws into their Baja Blasts and filling it with salt and pepper and hot sauce then daring their friends to drink it. Weird! Weirdos!’

‘What if I said I was hungry?’ you ask slyly.

‘Don’t even play,’ he growls. ‘I’m tired and — Oh my gods, you’ll never guess the drama from today.’

Astarion sets off on a long tangent about work related drama. His boss got into an argument with their boss and now everyone else is in trouble because someone who works the morning shift lost a set of keys. It’s nothing you’re particularly interested in, but it’s nice to hear Astarion talk to you. You adjust the radio to be quieter and turn the air up to be warmer. You’re so terrifyingly cozy you’re bound to fall asleep, but that’s okay. You lean back against your seat and close your eyes too.

‘That sounds like a mess.’

‘Aren’t you glad you don’t work?’

‘Beyond glad,’ you say.

Astarion hums. ‘How did studying go? Did you memorize anything interesting today?’

‘No,’ you say. ‘But, well, there was something I wanted your help with…’

You look across the console to watch him. He doesn’t seem as sleepy as you are. He offers you his hand and you take it just to hold it, fighting a shy smile as you do so. You give him a few more minutes to unwind after his shift before reaching for your keys in the ignition.

Astarion reaches for your hand. His fingertips slide across your upper arm to your fingers, wrapping around you to prevent you from starting the car. You swallow thickly. It’s almost like he read your —

‘You look absolutely wrecked, my dear,’ Astarion says. ‘Switch sides with me. I’ll drive us home while you doze.’

It’s a tempting offer. Being driven home. It’s the sleep deprivation that’s driving you somewhat crazy, you think, because Astarion has never looked more handsome than he does now in the passenger seat, hair tousled and uniform lopsided, and a smile on his face. Your cheeks heat up.

Oh, it’s definitely the sleep deprivation. Part of you wants to simply wait until you’ve made it home to do anything wild. But Astarion keeps looking at you, appraising you with gentle curiosity. He is unbelievably proud of you and how hard you’re working, and that appreciation is doing wonders to the thoughts inside your head. Your palms start to sweat.

You do a quick look around the parking lot one more time. It’s entirely empty now, not a single car in sight. No Lae’zel or Karlach or Wyll or anyone who would interrupt. The lone overhead light keeps blinking on and off. If you were truly concerned about your situation, you would think that it’s something out of a horror movie. Those aren’t the thoughts going on in your head. What you’re really thinking is so gross it should be humiliating. Astarion’s hand is warm on your hand, and his belly is still showing underneath his shirt that’s ridden up, and he’s tilting his chin because he’s noticed you’ve gone unusually still.

‘I don’t want to go home,’ you say in a small voice. ‘And — I’m not hungry either, not really.’

‘Oh?’ he hums. ‘What do you want to do instead?’

Ah. There it is. Your chance.

You pull your hand from his and place it on his knee, thumb pressing against the side of his thigh. Astarion’s eyes glimmer dangerously. He’s caught onto your mood. He knows exactly what you want without you even saying it.

He reclines your seat and stretches even more in your chair, his legs splayed out in front of him lazily. He’s lithe and taut, hands gripping the headrest for no other reason than he knows it makes him look gorgeous. He raises his chin like a challenge. You slide your hand up his leg and squeeze his muscle. Your mouth has gone dry, but that’ll be changed soon. You nibble the inside of your lip and pray to the gods to give you bravery.

‘You’re insatiable,’ Astarion accuses.

‘It was the textbook,’ you say defensively. ‘I studied for so long, and now my mind has wandered.’

He tsks at you in disappointment. ‘The Taco Bell parking lot of all places.’

‘Shut up.’

He laughs, nice and low and dangerous, and presses his hand flush against his belly. He pulls his shirt up a little higher and you fight desperately to keep your eyes on his face.

‘Shut up?’ he mocks. ‘Is that the best you can do?’

‘I’ll show you,’ you say brazenly, ‘what I can do.’

It’s abysmal, the lust that overtakes you. You lean over the console and watch as he raises his shirt so that you can see the smooth plane of his abdomen. He’s lithe, sleek, refined. Even in his silly little uniform, you can’t help but think about how amazing Astarion looks — and he knows that’s what is racing through your mind, because he indulges in the attention that you’re granting him. You lean forward, one hand bracing yourself against the console while the other falls against his thigh for support, and kiss gently across his belly. From one side of his waist to the other, one hip bone to the other, until you fuss enough that Astarion helps slide his work pants down his hips to his thighs.

The ridiculousness of the setting is forgotten. You lavish Astarion’s cock with attention, the tip of your tongue tracing over the svelte shape, until he’s gently lacing his fingers in your hair to help guide you along. But you know his body almost as well as you know your own. You take the tip of Astarion’s cock into your mouth and kiss it. You graze your teeth carefully over the skin and feel his leg tense in anticipation, and slowly, you swallow it inch by inch.

His cock jerks in your mouth, growing and hardening beneath your careful ministrations. After being together for so long, you know what he likes. He likes slow and languid strokes. He likes when you hum and sometimes when you try to suck him as far down as you can, but you also know that he likes the occasional graze of your teeth, and you’ve barely touched him when he moans softly under his breath as if it’s humiliating to him how needy he is for you as well.

It isn’t the most comfortable position to be in. The gear shift is rigging uncomfortably into your ribs, and the sound of your leather seats sliding against your skin is an unwanted addition, but you’re mesmerized by the way Astarion tastes on your tongue.

Even after a long shift, he still smells immaculate. Your laundry soap overpowers almost everything else, and his satiny tip is salty with precum, but you’ve always enjoyed that taste more than anything else. You mouth gently against the length of him, kissing and sucking and tracing patterns against his cock with your tongue. The touch causes his hand to tighten in your hair, not enough that it hurts, but enough that you’re reminded of him.

It’s comforting, the feeling of his hand in your hair as he guides you up and down his length. It reminds you of less busy days when there’s no studying and no work shifts to be had. In the summer, you often spend your days stretched out across Astarion’s bed while he reads or writes, and you have more than enough sex to pass the times.

It’s far less organized here, but you take your time swallowing around his cock, sliding him as far down as you can into the back of your throat until Astarion is making little, wild noises. He’s trying to keep quiet, and you do your best to peek at him from the angle you’re at. He might as well be a work of art with how he looks. His eyebrows are taut, and he’s biting his bottom lip so ferociously you think you ought to be concerned. Astarion’s eyes soften when he notices you’re watching, and that’s more than what you need to sit up and slide your sweatshirt off over your head. It’s peak romanticism to fuck nasty in the empty Taco Bell parking lot.

You lean forward and take Astarion’s cock into your mouth again with intent. It’s not the most comfortable angle to suck him off at, but you’re determined to keep his eyes on you even if it means you’ll have the world's sorest neck in the morning. Because you’re watching, Astarion makes an effort to watch you as well. He fights against the fluttering of his eyelashes, determined to see you until the very end.

His skin is soft and hot against your tongue, and you focus on breathing through your nose and fight against your own budding arousal. You want to feast on him, to give him something to enjoy since it was your idea to do something like this in your car. You pay close attention to the soft tip of his cock as you suckle it, pressing little licks against the underside of his head, moaning softly even though your elbows are beginning to ache from the angle. You would bring him to completion like this if he would let you, but you can tell by the way his eyes seem to burn that he has other plans.

‘You’re insatiable,’ Astarion repeats, laughing low in the back of his throat.

He lifts you by the chin and kisses you, unfazed by the spit and the drool and the slightly salty taste that sits on the tip of your tongue. If Astarion wasn’t into it, he would let you know. But if you’re insatiable, then he’s equally as deranged. He guides you over the console and into his lap, pulling and tugging at your sweatpants and underwear until they’re around your ankles.

You do try to keep some sense of decency. You push your sweatshirt in a bundle against the front window like that’ll do anything to hide the scene, and he leans his seat as far back as he possibly can without straining too much. Now is not the time for romance, you decide. You’re used to begging Astarion to fuck you, to batting your eyelashes and playing up how shy you are about your wants and needs, but there’s no time for that now at three in the morning. You rut against him, holding his hands against your hips.

It goes without saying that the lewdness of the situation does cause your cheeks to flush. You hide your face into Astarion’s neck and try to pray away the shame. But you aren’t ashamed of your lust, you aren’t ashamed of your desire — Your only concern is the embarrassment of how close to Astarion you want to be, never mind the faint perfume of the Fiesta Veggie Burrito that clings to his skin.

You worm your way into his lap fully, feeling how hard his cock is between your legs, and grind against the thickness of it. He guides your movement ever so carefully, murmuring sweet things into your hair that he wouldn’t be caught dead saying to anyone else. You’re amazing, don’t hide yourself from me, let us enjoy this together, and all other lyrics that Astarion is proud of. Finally, you reach between your thighs and take his cock into your hands, guiding it inside of you. You don’t have time to tease him, to take your time lowering yourself against his hips until he’s gripping your hips so hard you might bruise. You sink down onto him as quickly as you can, and gasp once you’re fully seated.

Gods, you’ll never get used to the feeling of him inside. He’s so thick and long that you feel impossibly full, that any movement you make will make you cum right then and there. Your hands always shake when you’ve taken him all the way to the hilt, and you bite your bottom lip to focus on the task at hand. This isn’t just about you and how easy it is to make your core burst with pleasure. This is about Astarion too. You want to thank him for all his hard work, to praise him even though he hates it, and you smile. Astarion smiles too. His eyes always get so soft when he looks at you… He’s never looked happier than he has when he looks at you.

Astarion’s hands rub soothingly up and down your spine. The touch is encouraging, is relaxing, and distracting. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't distract you from the way he looks up at you adoringly, almost as if he’s ever seen anything like it before. You relish in the heavy weight of his gaze, tilting your chin so that he can admire everything, and he does. Astarion watches you like someone would admire art at a gallery. He follows every line of your body that he can see, the curve of your neck, the fragility of your cheekbones, and runs his hands against your skin as though it’s the first time he’s ever felt it. It makes you feel special.

And of course, you are special. You were Astarion’s first after a string of countless conquests.

Astarion rubs his hands up against your sides, clasping his fingers taut around your waist so that he can guide you along the length of his cock. It’s all so simple. Astarion likes touching you in whatever way he can manage, especially after hours apart. You spend most of your time familiarizing yourself with the warmth of his hands as he traces his fingers against your spine, or pets through your hair, or massages any tense muscles that might be frustrating you.

He’s even more handsy during sex. You haven’t even moved yet, and he’s tugging at you, biting his lip as if that’ll keep him from trembling. Astarion has always been sensitive, but the recklessness of the situation seems to have riled him up. He paws at your hips. He’s desperate, intent, for some sort of sensation and you’re equally as needy, an overwhelming fullness causing you to shift your weight one more time so that you can balance on either side of his thighs without too much discomfort in a cramped space. You swallow, and slowly, pull yourself off his cock until you’re painfully empty again.

Astarion pushes his hands up beneath your undershirt. You stole it from his side of the bed before you came, somewhat desperate to be wrapped up in his scent. He presses his cheek against yours, and you kiss him — biting the swell of his lower lip and lapping at his tongue when he hums in response. He parts his lips for you and you kiss him messily, turned on by the way he arches at your intuitiveness.

It’s only then that you start really grinding against his lap, pushing his cock back against your core and rising off of it again, bouncing in his lap as he encourages you to do so. Astarion smiles against your teeth and digs his fingers into the curve of your ass. He pulls against his chest and further into his lap, filling you so full of his cock and encouraging you to rut against his hips so that the feel of it is the only thing you can think of.

Astarion is everywhere.

In your thoughts, in your mouth, in your body and mind.

‘Impatient,’ you whisper to him, trying to still your hips but even the thought of him sitting there while you take your pleasure is enough to send tingles down to your toes.

‘As if I’ll ever have enough of you,’ he murmurs in response. He tilts his chin back and offers you his throat. You bite the tender space beneath his jaw and suckle the skin, tasting a bruise blossom beneath your tongue. ‘O — Oh, that’s it.’

Astarion practically purrs as you leave your mark against his skin. You focus on that, claiming his neck right above the collar of his work shirt so that everyone will know the truth. Astarion Ancunín is yours.

‘Like that,’ he whispers soothingly.

Astarion shows his neediness like this, moaning faintly as you turn your attention to making another hickey. While you do that, he helps you grind and ride his cock, his fingers tucked neatly in the junction where your ass meets your thighs. He pulls you up and down his length without any strain, and it thrills you so much that your toes curl and you try to squeeze your thighs together. You whine against his throat.

‘You’re not the only one who doesn’t play fair,’ Astarion warns you.

He uses all of the strength you forget he has to bounce you in his lap. The pleasure is so intense it distracts you from your artwork, and you cry against his collarbone and cling to him. His cock causes you to feel empty and full — like you’ll never get enough of what he has to offer you.

And, well, any thoughts of playing fair after that have gone out the window along with your shame. The front seat of your car is cramped and tight, but you’re not really thinking about comfort as you chase that heat between your legs for something greater. Astarion does most of the work for you between the way he talks nasty and fucks even nastier, unable to keep his hands to himself for even a few seconds.

If his hands aren’t cradling your ass, then they’re beneath your thighs and if they aren’t there, it’s because he wants to torment you further by fucking into you hard by holding onto your hips as hard as his trembling hands will allow him.

Everything feels way too tight. The walls of your car seem to be caving in, and your clothes are suddenly clinging to you in a way that’s bothersome. You want to be closer to Astarion, to have fully melded your bodies together — and you curse the setting because if you had just been patient, you’d be halfway home to a comfortable bed.

‘You’re naughty,’ Astarion whispers, and it does something for you. ‘Did you miss me — Oh fuck, that’s good.’

You bite his neck to keep him from talking. If Astarion talks, you’re going to lose whatever decorum you have left. You wrap your arms around his neck and whine softly in his ear, nuzzling against his warm skin.

‘I missed you,’ you whisper against his neck.

‘I know you did,’ he murmurs, stroking your hip. ‘I can — Mm, I can tell how badly you missed me. Look at how well you’re riding my cock.’

‘Astarion — ’

‘I love the way you say my name,’ Astarion whispers fiercely. ‘I could listen to it all night and day. Say it again for me, pet. I’ll make you say my name.’

Heat causes your cheeks to flush. You’ll never get used to the casual way he says the raunchiest things, and yet, you can’t help but shiver against his chest at the observation. You wouldn’t have said that you were doing well at it. The roof is short, your legs are cramping, but somehow, that makes the feeling even better. There isn’t much room for you to go, and for that you’re grateful. It means Astarion can’t tease you endlessly with the length of his cock. Every move you make has to be short, frantic, calculated, and the tip of Astarion’s cock is pressed so deeply against your core that you can barely stand it.

‘Oh, it’s so much,’ you gasp.

‘Yeah?’ he muses. ‘You were made for me. You were made to take my cock. You’ll take it for me, you’ll cum for me.’

He uses his knowledge of all your favorite tricks against you. You cannot escape his grasp, one arm wound tight around your waist while the other now presses lightly against the nape of your neck. Astarion kisses the side of your mouth passionately and keeps you even closer than the limits of your surroundings. That riles you up even more.

‘I want to — I want to, Astarion, oh — ’

You drag your hips up carelessly, unburdened by shame or nervousness. You’ve known Astarion since your first day in the city, and you’ve been through enough and had each other enough to no longer feel embarrassed by your needs, not that Astarion had ever let you feel insecure about anything. You whine against his neck, and he kisses you fully then, a pouty mouth against your needy tongue, and then you maneuver yourself in his lap so perfectly that it catches Astarion off-guard and he moans fully against your chin.

You lose yourself in the feeling and the sound. Astarion’s moans sound even better in a tight, enclosed space. His voice is soft, low, dangerous when it needs to be, and he only becomes this unraveled with you.

It’s an intoxicating feeling. You cry softly, nose bumping against his, and fall apart at the sound of his arousal, the feeling of his fingers dancing across the back of your neck, the sharp ecstasy that burns like a wildfire in the center of your stomach. You want to chase your release now. To find it in his lap, against his throat, softly and hoarsely in his ear. But you aren’t ready, not yet, and it takes all of your nerves to pull away.

It’s humid inside the car now. You take a quick look at the sight. You reach for stability, your palm sliding against the fogged window, smearing a glance into the darkness outside. You rest your other hand against the center console and arched your back, height leveraged against Astarion so that he can see you fully. He’s quick to respond to your change in position, no longer kneeling forward, but high above him like you’re sitting on a throne.

Astarion’s hands slide beneath the shirt you have left, palms trailing smoothly up the arc of your belly, warming the skin of your chest. He sighs handsomely and stares at you, leaning back so that he might enjoy the sight of you fully. And now that you’re able to, you’re able to pull fully all the way off the length of him, leaving him without the feel of you clenched tight around his cock. You’re only able to wait a few seconds for your own sake before you’re wiggling all the way back down until you are right back to where the gods want you to be.

‘You look delicious,’ Astarion says proudly, wearing a familiar half-smile.

‘For you,’ you confess. And it’s true.

‘You always look so beautiful to me,’ Astarion says in a tone that reminds you of when a cat has had its fair share of milk. He’s preening, cocksure. ‘Go on,’ he adds. ‘Fuck yourself for me.’

You swallow hard and do as ordered with a different rhythm. No longer do you seek out slow assured strokes. These are quick movements, careless, unpracticed and unmeasured, and Astarion helps you with two thumbs pressed against your stomach. It’s his turn to lean as far back as he can to give you all the room you need, and while it isn’t perfect, it’s probably the second hottest thing the two of you have done together. Fucking in a car in an empty parking lot. Your fingers slip against the window and Astarion catches you by the elbow, sliding his hand up your forearm so that he can wrap his fingers around yours.

‘Like that, beautiful,’ he says encouragingly, helping you. ‘You’re close, aren’t you? Don’t you want to?’

You nod, unable to trust how your words would sound. One way or another, he always gets what he wants, and you know that with enough time and focus on your pleasure, Astarion will have you mewling.

‘Come on, baby,’ Astarion encourages you, and you can’t help but follow his every command. ‘I love the way you ride me — I was made to fill you up, you take my cock so well.’

His words only make you even more frenzied, riding him to the best of your abilities just so he’ll say something sweet about you again. He babbles nonsensical things about you, and if you were in a clearer headspace, you’d be able to make out his words but all you understand now is the nerves building up in the very bottom of your stomach as you chase satisfaction, so determined to see his face once it’s all over.

He coos at you, chin tilting all the way back so you’re able to stare at his pale throat. A gorgeous throat, sleek and elegant, wearing proof of your existence in little bruises and bites that are both new and almost healed. You want to bite him again, to let your teeth graze his Adam’s apple while he talks about politics that you barely understand, and with that, you reach for the back of his neck so that you can slam your mouths together in a clumsy kiss. Astarion hisses, and then he’s biting your lower lip until it swells, and you kiss him so sweetly your head spins.

And from there, you don’t last long. Your legs are shaking harder than they’ve ever shook before, and your chest feels so tight and your cheeks feel so hot that you’re almost incapable of thinking. All you see and know is Astarion. Astarion, lounging against your passenger seat, his own cheeks ruddy and his expression twisted in pleasure. You cry out and collapse forward, burrowing into his chest as tightly as you can. He wraps his arms around you, kisses your temple.

‘Astarion, Astarion, please!’

‘Just like that, my love — ’ he gasps against your crown, grunting as his release hits him hard. ‘Like that, my pet, you’re perfect, my dear, my dear heart — ’

Your core tightens at his sweet words, and then it’s your churn to choke out a hoarse cry as pleasure races through your spine so sharply that it must hurt. You bite down on his shoulder for comfort, moaning as you try to come to your senses.

It’s somehow both hot and cold inside your little car. Everything is sticky with sweat, and the moisture in the air has started to cause Astarion’s hair to frizz up. You’re boneless. It’s only fair that he takes it upon himself to pull you up from his cock, tucking you back into your baggy sweatpants. You hover awkwardly, his cum on your thighs, while he drags his work pants up his slender thighs. You aren’t sure who is groggier, but when you glance at the clock on the dashboard, mild horror thickens in your stomach. You feel faint.

It might have been nearly three in the morning when Astarion was released from his duties, but it’s now four in the morning, give or take a few minutes. You start to make your way over to the driver’s side again, about to inelegantly climb across the center console when Astarion grabs you by the waist and kisses the side of your head gently.

‘You stay put,’ he mumbles. He sounds positively fucked thorough.

‘I made you stay up late,’ you say guiltily, but he shrugs.

‘Honestly, you did all the hard work,’ he says with a snort. ‘Lay back and close your eyes, darling. I’ll drive. Thank the gods it's the weekend.’

He opens the passenger door, and the cool air of the morning smells so refreshing to the smell of sex that permeates everything else. He stretches for a minute before coming back. He kisses your forehead tenderly, nudging your nose with his.

‘Love you,’ you murmur.

‘Love you,’ he says.

It all happens so quickly. You’re faintly aware of the sound of Astarion snapping his seatbelt in, your car humming to life, an Alfira ballad playing so quietly in the background it might as well not even be on. You’re so warm and toasty that you can’t keep yourself from leaning your head against the window. If you fall asleep before the first redlight, Astarion doesn’t say anything. All you can recall once you get home is a strong pair of arms holding you tightly, and the pillow you stole from his side of the bed, and his back against your chest.

As it should be.

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