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pursuitseternal · 4 months

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“Release Me:” ⛓️ Chains and feral smut ⛓️ for “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader |E| 2K

“Chains” prompt for Ascended Astarion Week

Summary: After weeks of captivity and starvation, you finally rescue your love from his enemies. But the beast chained in the cell barely knows himself or you… until you’ve satisfied all his hungers.

CW: Blood kink (I just wanted a reason to have them fuck covered in blood), Feral/primal play, desperate sex, long nailed AA, prison sex, bondage/mild BDSM

Ao3 link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

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Musty, dark, dead. The bowels of the Red Wizard’s tower are worse than a dungeon. Not a speck of light, no slight hint of breeze. It is a tomb. A coffin. And inside somewhere is your love.

You can feel him, his blood calling to you, even as his mind has unraveled these long weeks of capture. You get fleeting images of his senses: the wide-eyed fear in his chest to be imprisoned in the dark. Away from his beloved sun. The racing pant of his breath to be so enclosed, not unlike that year he never speaks of under Cazador’s torment. Locked away. You feel the stinging of silver chains gnawing at his flesh, burning just enough to sap his strength, but not so strong as to kill him.

This was meant for pain, constructed for punishment, to hold him until his enemies would kill him. Your beloved. Your lord and king and master, overthrown by his foolish need for more power. You told him not to go alone to seek the remnants of the Red Wizards of Thay… you warned him they would want their tome returned and would punish him for knowledge of it.

Even the decrepit remnants of a failed cult can win from time to time.

Your chest burns as you try to catch your breath, your skin and armor slick with the blood of your enemies. But your feet propel forward regardless, pulled by the tether of your bond to Astarion.

You heave a sigh of relief to finally find the cells, thick black doors almost indecipherable in the darkness. A little daylight spell, and your eyes adjust to find a dozen doors carved from the bedrock of this damnable tower. The rattling of metal links, the rough snarls of breath grows louder as you close your eyes and follow the ragged beat of his ascended heart.

Hand shaking, you pull out a Knock spell scroll, a sigh of relief that your own Wizard companion of old had prepared you to take on these foes. Even as your fingers stick to the parchment, hands soaked in blood, you recite the word, and the edge of the cell door glows bright white for a moment.

Resonant, it creaks open on its ancient hinges, revealing a pair of glowing red eyes and the crescendo of dry-throated breath. His body drags across the floor towards your daylight, and your heart bursts with ache to finally see him again. Tears sting your eyes.

Paperwhite and beyond deathly pale, his gaunt face leers at you from the darkness. Lines of red, of raw flesh cross his neck and bare arms and legs where he has been chained.

Chained naked.

Your bile rises in your stomach as you curse his captors souls, glad you have already put those Wizards to a bloody, eviscerating death. You’d do it all again, just to punish them for how they’ve tortured your love. Breathing his name, you enter his cell, the walls of black stone absorbing the light of your spell, it seems. But it gives off enough for you to see every line of his hollowed face, every crest of his bony frame.

Astarion twists against his chains, his mind a pulsing mess of feelings and words, too feral to even speak yet. But one word comes across clearly.

Blood.

His nostrils flare, his tongue dangling over his fangs as he scans your spattered armor. A predator with the scent of prey in his nose.

There’s blood in the air…

He’s too hungry, too starved for blood and for you to be safe. Not with they way his eyes are wild and his tongue laps at his jaw. “Astarion,” you speak, making his black-blown eyes focus on you. “I’m here my love,” you reach a hand out to caress his silver hair, but he just snaps his fangs at you once you're in reach. Those silver chains holding him just shy of disaster.

“Naughty,” you try to chide him, but the humor is lost on his hungry body and soul. Mind racing, your feet race faster, hands finding the closest fallen enemy to drag it back after you down the hall. Then you leave it, ignoring the muffled grunts and growls and slurps he makes as he drains the corpse completely.

When you glance back inside, he looks at you, steadier, calmer, and covered in blood. He still crouches on the ground, hands and feet and neck bound, but now he croaks your name. “Darling,” his voice pains you with recognition, “I knew you’d come.”

You hurry to his side, kicking that light, bloodless corpse to the side. The silver chains at his ankles sting you, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of separation you have endured for weeks. You pull the silver apart in your hands, freeing his legs so he can stretch them out at long last.

A deep grunt of relief sounds from his chest. Your hands work up and down one leg, then the other, trying to soothe the tension and numbness and blood flow.

As you reach the top of his thighs, you withdraw in surprise. His cock achingly hard, juts against his belly, twitching and pink and… happy to see you too.

“I have missed you,” his voice caresses your ear and rushes down your spine, the chains at his neck clinking their high-pitched music as he leans against you. Nose buried in your hair, he inhales your scent like a drowning man gasps for air. “I can’t wait another moment, my love.” His voice unearthly, barely more than a growl, his hands chained near his belly reach into your armor.

You notice his nails, literally clawing for you, seeking your flesh. Nails, so long unkempt, have taken on their wild form, the razor sharp talons of a vampire lord. “I was so worried…. I missed you, my love,” you sigh, an edge of fear in your belly as you long to kiss those bloodstained lips with your own. Ignoring the sting, you grab the silver chain, a little yank to tug at him, making a playful, aroused smirk turn his dripping, scarlet lips as his body draws closer.

“I am master of myself once more,” his brows cant rakishly, even in the dark. “I won’t bite unless you ask very… very… nicely,” he croons straining against your leash.

“Oh, I think you're asking for more than a nibble,” you tease to release some of the fear that still lingers in your veins. Never have you been separated from him since you turned, and never, not even during the Rite of Ascension and your fight against his old master have you feared his death more than these past weeks. Floodgates break, your need to touch him and taste him overpowering all logic and fear.

Your fingers work quickly, unlatching your breastplate and cuisses, eyes locked into his as he watches your every move, tongue licking the blood from the corner of his mouth absentmindedly. You let the metal clang to the floor. Those two restrained hands extend for you, making the chains around his arms hiss as the magic sears more into his flesh anew.

“Hold still,” you order, crouching to grab the chains and tug them free from his flesh, his wounds instantly closing up now that he is well-fed once more.

For all the pain that must be lancing through his body, he just holds your stare with his own, sultry and feral and commanding. “Now, where were we?” he purrs, hands trembling to finally touch your body. Even with sapped strength, he pulls you flush against him, bringing you close. Slotting you in your place against his body. Those blood-caked claws dig into the supple cover of your leathers, tearing through it at your hips and down the seams as though they are paper. You’ll worry about decency later, for now you’re of one mind, unable to think until you’ve joined again.

You sink your body onto his cock, and he sinks his fangs into your blood-spattered neck. Your groans bounce off the pitch black walls, a roar of bliss and relief and release. No more fear or danger, aside from the fear of coming too quickly and the danger of spending hours fucking once more, covered in the drying gore of your foes.

The thought tickles from your mind to his, and he laughs as he thrusts up into you. “Just like old times,” he rasps between swallows from your neck.

Like old times, like every time, your body follows its instincts, finally filled with what you have most craved. His cock stretches you, a nearly unfamiliar pressure once more, but you hardly notice, not with how dripping wet you’ve become just to feel his breath on your neck and savor his muscled frame thrusting into you.

Tears prick at your eyes but you won’t let them wash that blood from your cheeks. No, you just grip into his hair, pulling his mouth from the puncture wounds in your neck to your own waiting lips. The copper tang of your blood floods your mouth as his tongue sweeps inside, the familiar taste of your own blood mixing with the nasty pollution of your enemies’ he drained earlier.

It sours your stomach, the taste, but you’re too lost in the way his breath warms you, inside and out. Those long, feral nails score into your back, wandering quickly between your writhing bodies. With low, rumbling growls into your mouth, he grips your waist, moving you and holding you in place as he fucks harder. More erratic. More hellsbent on that release he needs.

His voice fills your ear, “My Consort, my love, my pet, my saviour,” he pours your beloved epithets over you, breath ragged and out of synch with his roughly snapping hips. One hand lies splayed on the stone behind him, that extra leverage driving him deeper with abandon. He’s thickening inside you, so hot and too quickly.

“Don’t get carried away,” you chide, yanking at the chain around his neck, making his crimson eyes stare at you with lust-blown pupils. “You haven’t even given me a reward yet for my daring bravery, my love.” You make him hiss, his slack mouth baring his fangs in pleasure-ridden pain. “And you haven’t even granted me an apology for running headlong into this… foolishness,” you cock your chin and tug his chain-leash again. “Promise me, no more ludicrous missions without me.”

He growls but nods, hands digging at your ass, not one hint of resistance.

“Then I’m satisfied, well…” you wriggle, clenching your walls on his throbbing cock inside you, “soon to be satisfied.” A laugh shared on both your panting lips, you ride his lap, bringing him back under a steady rhythm, drawing out his pleasure until you’ve had yours as well. He pulls against his last remaining chain, and you tut your tongue. One of your hands brings his fingers into the apex of your thighs, coaxing his finger to circle your clit with every buck. Your other hand releases that leash, freeing it from his flesh at last so you can grab his chin. Then you lick… long and cleansing, tasting the remnants of your blood, and your enemies’, and faint traces of his own.

That warm tip of his tongue laps at the corner of his lips, his breath heavy as he feels your walls fluttering around his cock. Spine arching, hips canting fervently, you scream for him, tears in your throat and down your face at last, as if you didn’t believe you’d ever be brought to orgasm by him again. Sharp nails score into the sensitive flesh of your folds, hips slamming into your last waves of pleasure as he spills inside you, spurt after spurt of his seed filling you and leaking to the prison floor beneath you both.

Crimson eyes glance up at you, wild and sated, hungry and happy all at once. “Get me home, my Consort,” he whispers. “You’ll be coming on my cock in our bed next.”

You smirk, breathless, pulling out a scroll to open a portal to your palace. As you stand, you kick the chains at your feet with your boot, thankful he’s released into your care once more.

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💞 to @marimosalad and @nyx-knox

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pursuitseternal · 4 months

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“Our Blood is Thicker: Into the Fire,” first sequel quest for the Ascendant and his Raven

Astarion x Cordehlia | E | 3.5 K of exposition and throne sex

🎨 by @marimosalad , co-parent creator

NSFW version on X 🍒🍆

Summary: A favor once given to ensure Ascension is finally owed in turn. Raphael arrives from Avernus to negotiate the aid of his much-adored Bone Picker on the front lines of the Blood War, but the Ascendant won’t let her go alone. With the thrill of another battle on the horizon, Astarion and his Raven steal a moment just for the two of them. Lust and bloodlust aren’t quite so diffent.

CW: another deal with the devil, hints of voyeurism, pre-battle sex, male receiving oral, assplay, rim job, romantic PiV throne sex, semi-public sex, possessive Astarion

Original Fic | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 1: “Where Two Raging Fires…”

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Air had grown warmer in the palace, then the slight stink of sulphur. Astarion sat up from the back of his throne, glancing at Cordehlia who lounged against the arm of his massive chair, her favorite place.

At his literal right hand. That hand that usually toyed sneakily over her back or up her thigh when eyes weren’t watching too closely. Or even when they were.

This… this stung them both, made both their hearts rap faster in trepidation at the memories of those similar times.

Slowly, the cloud of shadow and fire dissipated, and an all-too-familiar face leered up at the royal couple from the floor beneath their dais. “They say… uneasy lies the head that wears the crown…” that deep velvet voice crooned, “but I suspect it is because of the crown now, you’re receiving head much more easily, isn’t that right, Lord Astarion…”

Astarion sneered, holding up Cordehlia’s hand in his, resting it on the arm of his throne. “What do you want Raphael?” he sneered. “And you can skip whatever questionable poetry you’ve rehearsed for the occasion.”

The devil looked at his nails, placing one foot on the bottom step of the dais. “Why else would I come back into this realm than to say it’s time to cash in on my favor to you, Lord Astarion, Vampire Ascendant, saviour of Baldur’s Gate and overthrower of his erstwhile master…” His deep set face drew into a smirk and he climbed right up to the throne, making a growl rumble in Astarion’s chest. His fangs bared as he watched the Cambion scoop up Cordehlia’s hand to press it in greeting to his lips. “The favor I ask, however is not for you to fulfill, mighty master. It is for your lovely and fearsome bride, for the Bone Picker.”

“I no longer answer to that title, devil,” she snipped, ripping her fingers from his burning touch. “I am my Lord’s Raven, now…”

“And bride,” Raphael smirked darkly. “You reek of him…. Somehow worse than before the fall of the Absolute.”

“You say that as if it’s a problem,” Astarion sneered deeply, hackles raised if he had them, as every muscle in his body wound tight to attack.

“Of course not, what’s yours you’ve won, fair and square, and so hard-earned as well. A victory with every advantage that was generously bestowed upon you.” Raphael straightened and withdrew a step. “I do require your Right Hand’s many talented skills in the hells, however. The Blood War reaches a pinnacle, and her ferocity should turn the tide in our favor.”

“That sounds like a devil of a problem…” Astarion smirked, placing his hand on Cordhelia’s thigh where it rested over the arm of his throne, softly teasing the leather of her breeches. An extra loud drag of his nail over its soft leather caught Raphael’s attention. “You should know, better than anyone, I won’t be letting my darling Raven out of my sights.” He gave a polite but toothy smile. “You will have to rethink your favor, then if you wish it to be satisfied.”

“Very well,” Raphael bowed his head in deference. “As the Vampire Ascendant, your efforts would go a long way as well in battle. I would be remiss not to have you join in the fray, beside your beloved of course.”

The way his dark eyes glinted made Cordehlia’s brow furrow, her chin jutted out a bit more in a vision of confidence, even as her mind ran over and over again through her suspicions. “Tell us more about the battle, the enemy, the terrain, before we consent to your request,” she hissed at the devil, the commanding voice and experience of the Bone Picker coming full force. “There is something you aren’t telling us, devil.”

And it made Raphael noticeably shiver. “I swear it’s just a bunch of pesky demons and imps. I’m sure you and your lover will make quick work of them while my forces decimate the bulk of their ranks.”

Astarion’s brows raised high. “My my, you must be desperate if you’re going to be fighting too.”

“I would hate to make a request of your illustrious selves I wouldn’t also… indulge in,” the devil grinned.

“Oh I’m sure there is much you would indulge in….” Astarion sneered. Then, his eyes looked up into Cordehlia’s, those matching crimson irises sparkling as they fell silent. Little expressions crossed their faces, their thoughts clearly unified, that fabled marriage bond between Sire and Bride clearly not stuff of legends only. A playful smirk dallied across her full lips before Astarion’s gaze returned to the devil at his feet. “Very well, you have our pledge of strength. We will leave…”

“Now,” Raphael interrupted. “We must go now, this instant. Or else all will fail.”

Cordehlia stood from the arm of his throne, blades already spinning in her palms. Testing their weight and grinning all the while. “We need an hour to prepare. You ready your portal to the hells, Raphael.”

As the devil bowed low, she let one dagger sing just over the top of his head before it embedded in the wall behind. His dark eyes stared in insulted, aroused fear as he instantly looked up.

Cordhelia only narrowed her glare more. “And if this proves more difficult of a favor than you paid us… if this poses a risk to me or my lord, I’ll have your cambion testicles brined as a trophy, do you understand?”

Raphael gave that well-practiced, wicked smile. “Of course, I wouldn’t let any harm befall my favorite legend or the new favorite of Mephistopheles… there would be literal hell to pay.”

“Oh…” Astarion sat up, hand splayed across the buckles of his jacket, “is that me? Am I the favorite?” He smirked, that one that was dripping with arrogance and self-conceit.

“I wont waste my breath spouting off your praises, Lord Astarion, for they are so well-sung. My humble additions would do nothing—”

“You’re wasting precious time to prepare, Raphael,” Cordehlia’s voice sliced through his oily accolades.

A slight twitch of the devil’s eye, a subtle raise of his mouth and a pause of his breath, and wordlessly, Raphael bowed. With that, the Ascendant and his Raven watched as he receded, both managing to perceive that sly little turn of his mouth as he left the throne room.

After a breath, Astarion looked up at his bride, eyes softer as he scanned her face. “I don’t like it,” he said coolly.

“Hmm,” Cordehlia shifted her legs around, sliding off the wide arc of his throne and settling herself on his lap in one fluid motion. “The only thing better than the devil you do know is if we rid ourselves of any lingering bargains, don’t you agree?” She met his gaze, his breath warm as he sighed, two-hundred years of betrayal, of abuse, years brimming with the pain of owing everything to others still shined in those faintly glowing depths. “I had nothing for so long, not even my own body…” he had once said. “You want freedom, my love,” she whispered, nuzzling against the pulse point of his neck to hear his heart racing, “we need to satisfy this last agreement, and then all of that is behind us.”

Closing his eyes, Astarion could see the memory of his Ascension from her hazy, venom-clouded sight. Memories were filled with her darkening gaze as she watch that red light bathing his pale skin, sad eyes glowing with Ascended power before her own closed almost for good. Her thoughts swirled inside her own head right now, thoughts racing with images and emotions to reach him down their tethered bond.

“I’d do it all again,” he whispered, stroking her flowing, fiery hair, “I’d give all that again, make the same decisions, just to have this moment with you, my darling. The chance to hold you on my lap again… to keep your soul in this realm and bind your heart to mine as my bride…” A sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips, “worth every sacrifice made.”

Cordehlia swallowed past the lump of tears in her throat. “Helps that you have me right on your cock…” she teased, ignoring the damp fluttering of her voice, “on a throne no less, you spoiled lordling.”

He gave a single laugh, damp on his breath with nearly-shed tears at the memory of almost losing her. “Where you belong for eternity now, my darling Cordehlia,” he rasped. His nose pressed into that soft skin behind her ear, breath hot as he whispered more. “Think your preparations will take the full hour, my Raven? Or is there some room for… indulgent activity before we leave for uncertain danger and battle again?”

“You know I don’t believe in any more what-if-we-die-today fucks,” she whispered, voice deep and needy in her throat as she turned her lips to brush his. “But if you’re asking just because… then say the word, my love, and I’ll have you right here on your throne.”

His warm lips suckled the bottom of her own pointed ear, making her squirm and soak her under things all at once. “Please,” he whispered, that gravely undertone in his voice. “Having you always gets me in the right frame of mind for a fight,” he goaded her, a little thrust of his hips to grind his hardening cock against her left thigh.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Cordehlia ran her hand beneath the hem of his jacket, sliding her cool touch to tease the buttons of his breaches, the supple velvet doing him no favors to hide his erection.

“Come now,” he purred in the same dulcet tones that still made shivers race down her spine, “we both know you want this too. Let me help you clear your head before we enter back into battle. He slipped the buttons of her tunic open to expose those voluptuous breasts of hers, “I’d hate to leave you wanting, to leave you stuck dreaming instead of doing.”

She arched her back, letting her tunic fall open for both of those hardening mounds to touch the air. A sigh on her lips escaped as his mouth closed around that pretty pink nipple to suck. “It’s a fine line between lust and bloodlust,” she rasped.

“Don’t we know it, my love,” he spoke, swiping his tongue through her bosom to capture the other aching nipple.

Fingers freeing his cock, she lovingly stroked him until every vein raised hard and its head flushed hot and pink with need.

A growl in his throat, and Astarion’s hands fussed for her own laces to her leathers. “Why couldn’t you wear the dresses I’ve bought you?” he hissed, chastising. “It would make this so much faster for both of us,” he grunted.

“Oh, poor baby, needing to work a little to get to the rewards of his labors,” she snickered, sweeping her thumb over his cock’s weeping slit. “I can’t spoil you too much or you would be positively insufferable.” She whispered into his ear, only to suck his earlobe into her mouth, jeweled earring and all. Warm precum seeped out over her hand as he shuddered beneath her.

“Are you my raven or are you a minx?” he rasped, breath forced from his lungs.

“Can’t I be both?” she murmured against the shell of his pointy ear, running the barest tip of her tongue up it just the once.

“You are both,” he corrected bluntly as he choked on his words. He spasmed against her, and Cordhelia laughed slowly, settling her body, fluid and smooth, to sit on the floor of their dais, nestled between his thighs. She fished out his balls too, widening that gap of his breeches and prying his thighs all the wider for her. Astarion shifted, a contented sigh in his throat. “Always the good soldier, aren’t you, my darling? Beginning with a proper weapons inspection?”

“Shhh,” she gave him a peeved, twisted smile. “Save your razor wit and authority for the battlefield.” Her thumb swept up and down that hardening length, but her rosy lips pressed in little suckles and licks over the loose skin of his balls. That hiss from between his fangs as she nipped that velvet skin with her own blunted teeth was music to her ears. Just a tease of danger, just a hint of dominance and threat to make him whimper. Her hand worked his marble-hard and vein-ridged shaft, her mouth easily sucked one ball between her cheeks to suckle and then the other.

“And to think, those hands of yours are about to tear their talons through some demonic forces,” he sighed, voice strained in his throat, hips bucking as he looked down at those bright, vermilion eyes glinting at him with adoring mischief.

Those hands tugged his trousers to his ankles, efficiently pulling off one boot before she had freed his leg completely. “Why don’t you let me pamper you, my lovely lordling, one more time before we face death and destruction again…” her voice was molten with desire, those lips barely off from sucking his cock.

He groaned his approval, never one to turn down being spoiled. Those lithe hands of her guided his leg up and over the arm of his throne. That touch pulled him closer to the edge of his throne. His cock throbbed from need, her lips having yet to close around it completely. But that tongue laved around his balls until, finger and mouth explored his tight hole at the back, suddenly making him ache with pleasure. Fists gripped the arms of his throne, and he was glad they were metal, not wood, that they would bend and not shatter under the force he now clutched them with. “Easy, Cordehlia,” he panted. “Do you want the devil to come back and give us an audience?”

“I think you can bite your tongue,” she chuckled against his sensitive flesh before diving in for a bit more.

Bite his tongue, he did. Or his knuckle rather. The copper of his own blood covered his teeth, his core flooding with heat and tightening with pleasure with every lick and teasing touch she made around his ass. “Love,” he croaked in a single breath. A warning as he approached his own climax so quickly.

Licking her lips, she sat back on her heels, her hands slowly undoing the laces to her black tunic, letting that deep collar open to reveal her breasts. His cock twitched, untouched, at the sight of their fullness, those rosy nipples just barely visible in the cloth’s gap.

“I might have been a touch aggressive, my love,” she purred as she slid her body up, dragging her breasts up over his weeping cock first, pausing to let it glide slightly between their warm curves. That length jolted at the contact, his back arching, his hands gripping subtly against the nape of her neck.

“Save your aggression,” he chided her back with a suck of his teeth. “I’d prefer your adoration, my darling,” he asked, voice soft with love and yet edged with need. Her brows raised, that look in his eyes the same as it had always been, centuries of longing never to be sated. A look of pure love that could never be given or reciprocated enough.

Her elven body moved with all its grace, climbing to rest in his lap, her forehead pressed to his. Even with her crimson eyes closed, she could see his smile, feel his warm breath on her own lips. His skilled fingers wove intricate patterns against her neck, teasing and spinning her coppery red hair.

“I could hold you like this forever,” he whispered, that sweet confession from his now-beating heart. “And even still, forever wouldn’t be enough.”

Cordehlia leaned just slightly, lips pressing the cool fullness against his own. “My eternal lover,” she whispered, “my husband and sire by blood, a blood thicker than time itself.”

“Tch,” he broke from the kiss with a taunting tone, “my fighter has a bit of the poetic bard inside her.”

Oh, that smirk on her pale face and that glint in her scarlet eyes, it made him gasp as she lined up his cock with her entrance and sank down on him at long last. “No, I only let insufferable elvish rogues inside me,” she replied in a voice of purest desire.

“Fuck, Cordehlia, you know what I meant,” he rasped against her grinning lips, hand still heavy at the nape of her neck as she slowly began to ride him.

One hand braced into the thick gold filigree of the throne’s back, the other caressed his cheek, keeping his forehead pressed tenderly against her own. Those now-crimson eyes closed, fluttered shut to savor the way his warm breath panted over her awaiting tongue. When she closed her eyes, it was as if no time had passed, as if his pulse thrummed in her veins, as if his breath carried life into her soul. This, this was when she felt whole, completed.

This was when she lost herself in the warmth of who he was, in his love and passion and power. A sigh on his lips against his own, and she dove her tongue in to taste him, that comforting feeling that transported her back centuries and leagues away to the very beginnings of their love.

This was no rough fuck, no bloodlust driven blind drive for release. A union of two souls, battered and bruised as they were, shared between one beating heart.

It was enough for her to slip her mind into his, to flood his every waking and subconscious thought with every moment shared between them. With ragged breath and aching legs, she rode him, his hands rocking her hips to bring her somehow even closer.

“Look at me, Cordehlia,” his lips whispered noiselessly against her gaping mouth.

Eyes wide, dark and dilated, his gaze flickered over her beautiful face. His reflection was mirrored almost infinitesimally in those vermillion eyes of his Bride. His gut twisted in a mix of grief as he missed those star-kissed silver ones and a mix of reassurance to see her made forever in his own image and under his eternal protection.

“Astarion,” her voice barely more than a breath. “Promise me, you won’t do anything stupid in battle…”

“Only if you make the same promise, my queen of battle and blood,” he rumbled in reply, lips barely breaking from the taste of her own. His hips rolled in perfect union with her, stealing her breath until all she could do was nod her assurance. “Good,” he grunted, eyes still locked into hers, hungry to watch her come apart for him one more time. “Now, I’m going to fill you so that when that devil comes sniffing after my Lady Corvus, he can’t help but scent me,” his voice rough and gravely in his throat.

She pushed herself harder, hand gripping her nails into the back of his neck too to keep his damp forehead pressed hard against hers, her tongue tangled in the warmth of his until her breath stopped as she came. Her taste flooded with the tang of her blood as he bit the corner of her lip accidentally. His own body was lost in the waves of pleasure she commanded as he came, hard and sudden and shaking as he filled her. Grunting, his fangs released her lip, tongue lapping the wound closed out of habit as his hips gave a few softer rolls until he finally stilled.

Fingers ran through her hair, one last kiss on her bloodied lips and he released her. She made quick work of her trousers again, and Astarion did the same, belts fastened not a moment too soon as the doors to the chambers opened again. Raphael entered, a smug sort of grin twisting his swarthy, deepest face. An armload of items, Raphael set them down in the center of the receiving chamber. A snap of his fingers, and salt began to pour along the floor in patterns, the arcs and points required for a portal into Avernus. Then he turned that sinister smirk on the two vampires, a blush covering both their pale cheeks. “I figured salt was a safer bet to use in place of blood in the presence of two ravenous vampires, but it smells like you’ve already sated your… appetites.”

Astarion gave that low, rolling chuckle, eyes watching as the devil started setting out items for the rite. “My house, my rules…” his voice dropped to an intimidating growl, “my consort.”

“Your house, indeed, and master of all that resides in it, I’m sure,” Raphael’s thick lips grinned over his shoulder. “As for me, I would never allow for such… relations… outside of my chambers, as Master of my house.”

“Well, how fortunate we are under my palatial roof where I am Master,” Astarion sneered with bold confidence. He stood, making his way with abject determination. “Now that necessities are taken care of,” he threw at Raphael as he passed, “a simple trip to our armory and we will be ready for whatever fresh hell awaits us.”

Even Cordehlia snickered at that one, shaking out her red hair and following in her lover’s wake.

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