#etl Astarion x OC

[pursuitseternal]

“Relenting:” a romantic💞 update to ETL Astarion x Tav (OC) in “Our Blood is Thicker:”

Astarion x F! (OC) | E | 4.7K of angst and kisses

Summary: At the end of another long day, Cordehlia seeks a moment of isolation, only to have the source of her agony ask her for a bite. Same old pains resurface, same old ambition for power in his crimson eyes. Only trouble is, after a falling out, he hasn’t returned…. And there are more monsters in this forest than a charming Vampire Spawn…

CW: angst, self-loathing, fight, flashbacks, anxiety, some mildly graphic violence against werewolves, “first” kiss, post battle make out, cockblocking companions…

Previous Chapter | AO3 link | AstarionMasterlist

Chapter 4: “Relenting”

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Hag destroyed. Tiefling allies made. A few goblins killed… more supplies for the camp, more loot for everyone’s pockets. Cordehlia turned the day over in her mind as they threw together a ragtag place to rest. Most of her companions were too tired to pitch a tent, settling for a bedroll under the stars of the Grove.

But not him. Oh no, he took every tedious care to set his abode just as he liked it. Just as he saw fit. Cordehlia shook her head, amused and irritated in equal measure. Her companions consulted one another around the fire, their plans for infiltrating the Goblin camp tomorrow… finding the Archdruid that was demanded. It would be another grueling day tomorrow.

Her elven sensibilities grated on her with how dirty she was, silently she grabbed a carafe of water and a rag, fishing out a bar of soap she had found among the Tieflings today. At last. Supplies and clean linens, a change of clothes in hand, she left without a word.

Night crept in as she did the same, stalking to the edge of camp so as not to draw attention. Eager to wash the grime and blood from her skin.

She hurried, not wanting to get caught again by prying eyes. She laughed at the memory.

If only he knew… if only he remembered the eery and striking resemblance to what set them on their path to engagement. Being caught lusting after her… all those years of fondness and flirtation as youth suddenly solidified as the truth of his feelings came forward. Prominently. No denying it after being caught with his hand down his pants, that veil of dramatic pretense finally slipping away.

Sighing, she scrubbed her skin, letting the light clean scent of the soap reground her. It was enough for now. She smiled just a bit, assured and proud of herself that he still wanted her. For all the centuries of torment they both endured, she still made him… long. Long for her.

And long and hard.

She giggled to herself. But the sight of her dirty, rust-colored skin, stained with the results of her violence sobered her.

She was not that innocent She-elf. Nor was he that confident, devious, charming Elf lordling that set his sights on her.

He couldn’t even remember her.

She could barely remember herself anymore.

Washing in silence, the weight of her suffering grew with every swipe of the clean cloth over her skin. It should be making her feel free. Cleansed. But instead, she only watched as the once pure water ran stained as it touched her.

Corrupted.

Ruined.

Vicious.

She hastily threw on the clean tunic and breeches, and even with all the torment she struggled to fight back down inside her, it did feel good to be clean.

In her body if not her soul.

Footsteps approached. And she hurriedly grabbed her soiled clothes, dumping out the basin and wringing out the wash cloth.

“There you are…” that silken voice purred from the edge of camp. Astarion ran his eyes over her, the scent of soap and cleanliness hitting him strong. “Feeling better are we?” His smirk turned the corner of his mouth, that ravenous glint in his eyes as he pulled out another little bottle of ruby potion for her. “I thought you might give me a hand…” he drew near, “or a wrist, or a neck…” then he whispered right into the curves of her pointed ear. “Or a thigh, if your blood is running hot like mine.”

“Is this your ask every fucking night?” she snapped.

His eyes went wide. Mouth tweaking just a hint in surprise at her instant rage.

Good.

“Your blood might be hot, but not as I was hoping,” he couldn’t help the tease. But as he watched her face only growing redder, he softened. “Sorry, I… you’re not feeling better. Ahem…” He cleared his throat nervously. “I can just…”

She gave a feral growl, tugging up the sleeve of her shirt, balling her hand into a fist and shoving it in his face. “Here, be quick. Tomorrow will be grueling. Bloody. Another list of victims to add to my count, I would imagine.”

“Victims?” he queried, his voice gentle, almost as gentle as the way he caught her rigid arm in his hands and set it back down at her side. “What is going on, Cordehlia?”

She said nothing, only hissing breath from her mouth as she looked at her feet.

“You were glorious today you know, righteous…” he purred at her, his hand slowly stroking the bared skin of her arm. “No one looks so delicious covered in blood. Well,” he taunted with a dark little laugh, “maybe except for me.”

Scoffing, she shook her head. “I wasn’t meant to be this…” swallowing, she tried to pull from his touch. But he held firm. “I wasn’t meant to be blood-spattered and reckless. Violent and sadder and wiser. You were. You always were impetuous and rash and devious.”

Her body went numb. Chilled except for the feeling of his hand on her skin and the raging heartache that tore through her chest. He just let her stay beside him, his hand around her arm a steady tether keeping her present.

“Well,” he cleared his voice, all that honey in his tones gone, nothing but softness and the gentle rasp of his low tones in his throat, “you’re not alone you know, that feeling of being made into something against your will.”

The devastation in his voice drew her attention, meeting those dark red eyes, usually so exacting and seductive now wide and worried.

“We can even compare notes if you like, which would be easier if I could remember more…”

She swallowed that burning lump in her throat.

“But, for what it’s worth, as another being thrown into the darkness and made to do horrid, unspeakable things against my will… I am glad I’m not alone.” Those full lips of his tweaked slightly into a smile. “Not anymore.”

Gods, her face was soft in the moonlight. Bathed and glowing, and strangely familiar. Was she looking at him with longing on purpose? Were her lips trembling to catch his attention, bidding him to stay them with his own?

Her eyes began to flutter, and every muscle in her arm in his grasp clenched in expectation.

Until she took a deep breath, shaking her long red hair. “I…” she withdrew. “I am not myself right now,” she mumbled. “I need food, rest… all this business with the tadpoles, finding the Goblins, rescuing the Druid… it’s a bit much.”

“It is,” Astarion smiled. Holding his place. Letting her sway on her toes, undecided if she should stay or leave. Undecided if she should kiss him, by the way those lips twitched and puckered.

She looked down where his hand hung, the one that had just held her gently, that cool chill of his touch… He had given her something so small, so insignificant. Swallowing, she realized it was only fair she returned the favor.

So, she held up her wrist. “I need you strong, so feed, my vampire,” she whispered. “And be quick.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he smiled, caressing his fingers along the pinpricked skin of her arm to press her to his mouth. He looked into her face, expecting her to shut her eyes tight, bracing for the piercing pain of his bite.

But those silver eyes just stared back. Her breath was quick, her eyes dark as they dilated to watch his mouth on her flesh. That ivory of her complexion grew flush, just a kiss of blush on the crest of her cheeks.

His hunger took hold, that scent of her skin so close, the pull of her blood so strong. He bit, sharply and quickly, letting his lips and tongue do the rest. Drinking her down, as all the while, she watched. Licking her own lips as her blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. Forcing shaky breath after shaky breath from her lungs, hiding it from him with her silence.

She looked so… radiant, it made something inside his undead heart shift. And what was more, she had called him hers, her vampire…

He lifted his mouth, pressing the potion of healing into her palm. “Here, a little something for the effort from your grateful vampire,” he teased.

A weak smile twitched on her lips as she downed the bottle. “Little something for a massive effort. Each day seems to just be more. More cures that don’t work, more puzzles and people who need help… more mysteries and unanswered questions. These tadpoles aren’t going to remove themselves…”

“Well,” he stepped into her path. That wry look on his face. Calculating and cunning. It made her stomach sink, for she had seen it so often before. “I know you’re working hard to fix these little tadpoles of ours, but you have to admit… there is potential here.”

“Potential for what, exactly?” she cocked her chin. “Power? Influence? Control?”

“Well, yes, naturally.” He raised that brow, a flick of his wrist.

Cordehlia just shook her head. Some raging disbelief darkening her face and she hung her head low.

“Look, all I am saying is that we know there are many others under this influence, instead of removing them… what if… we found a way of controlling them… and those who possess them?”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Her voice fell soft. Sharp and cold. “You would like it so much, you would choose it above everything.”

“Above you,” he snapped, “you mean?”

Oh that little spitfire, she squared her shoulders and parted her legs. Her eyes narrowed with all the resolve she mustered. “Forgive me if my memory is intact, that I remember the consequences of your obsession with making a name for yourself… or to find a way to influence others to your benefit…”

“That was it, wasn’t it? The thing you accuse me of for leaving you… not that I can remember,” he snapped, his teeth bright in the moonlight. “So eager to keep me with you always isn’t that right, darling?” he gave that low, rumbling chuckle. “What if controlling these tadpoles was the way for us to be together for eternity? We know so very little, perhaps they grant us powers beyond even our ability to rip into the minds of others…. Long life? Power? Wealth? A way for me to kill my old master?”

“What if it causes loss and despair and heartache and death?” She hissed in reply. “What if it hurts others more than you could ever fathom, even if you finally got your head out of your…”

“Tch,” he interrupted, his own temper beginning to flame. “I have the feeling we aren’t discussing the same thing….”

Cordehlia scoffed, trying to push past him, but he slid effortlessly into her path again. “Let me pass,” she hissed.

“Not until you admit it. You’re angry with me, and I have a feeling we aren’t discussing anything related to these tadpoles at all…”

“You want to know? You want to know?” she panted. Her face now red with rage.

She closed her eyes, drawing upon the tadpole’s power inside them both as their minds smashed together.

“It won’t take me long,” Astarion grinned from atop his horse. “First, a few months study, then a career in the Magistrate’s office. I’ll have a name, influence, wealth, I’ll have it all…” He grinned wider, reaching a hand down to the She-elf beneath him. Her red hair dancing in the breeze, her silver eyes brimming with love, and desire, and longing. It made his heart full and his groin ache. “We’ll have it all, my love.”

“You know, I would wed you if you had nothing more than your charming good looks and the clothes on your back,” she smirked, grabbing his hand. “Of course those would most likely quickly end in a pile on the ground…”

“Vixen,” he purred, leaning over to place his lips on her fingers. So soft and warm and familiar. “Only a little time until that may happen… a few months perhaps. A blink of the eye for our kind. And then, we will wed. And you,” he gave her that same rakish leer that made her stomach flutter and her thighs hot, “you, Cordehlia Ancunín will be the toast of Baldur’s Gate, my bride.”

“It does sound rather nice,” she gripped his hand, running her thumb across the back of his hands, knowing the way every muscle, every vein raised in his pale skin. “The name… and the fame.”

“Doesn’t it just?”

The scene grew hazy… blurred as if she kept him from seeing, from hearing every detail. Just the galloping of hooves and the sight of him riding into the woods.

Then it was only her… standing in the road. A different day, a different dress. Her body was wrapped tight in white furs. The snow crunched under her feet, shaded by the barren trees.

She looked up the road. Shivering as she clutched her fur cloak tighter. Her hands trembled, but she held tight to something… letters, a thick stack in her palm. She was waiting. Again. For anything. For him.

Until the wind tore down the path, ripping every paper from her frozen fingers faster than she could scream and cry and chase after them.

Gone.

She had nothing now. Only a cleft of loneliness in her heart. The chill of winter, the death of her hope. The shiver of her body, the warmth of her love dispersing forever.

He was gone.

She released him. Her eyes filled with hot tears, but she wouldn’t blink. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of crying over him again. Not again.

Not to his face.

Before he could even open his eyes, she ran up the path and into the camp.

He was gone. Again. Or still. It was time for the night watch, and still he was away. Cordehlia’s heart raced, but from worry or just raw hurt, she wasn’t certain.

The only thing that made her feel slightly less worried was that Karlach had watched him take his daggers into the forest… grumbling about going hunting. It wasn’t much, but it was at least a direction he was spotted and a purpose.

But even as the company sat around the fire, her stomach turned blackly sour. It felt familiar. Him leaving. Her waiting. The old thrum of anxiety and not knowing….

She shook it off for now. He was no Magistrate, no elfling, he wasn’t even young anymore. He was a Vampire. More deadly than the vast majority of things in the woods.

It made her mind wander, her mouth waiting to speak until there was a break in the conversation amongst them. She turned to look at the human, the newest member of their band. “You were raised in Baldur’s Gate, were you not, Wyll?”

“Indeed,” he flashed that gentlemanly grin at her. “Son of the Duke, no less, though I obviously was promised for a different path…” He meant all that he had become too, Blade of Frontiers, warlock bound in service. Monster hunter.

“Do you know of Cazador Szarr?”

The question hung in the air, and by the weight in her voice, everyone grew silent. Heavy. Each surmising at least the source of such a wondering.

Wyll cleared his throat, “Can’t say that I have. But I haven’t been in the city since I was a youth. Is he new?”

Her eyes grew sad as she turned back to look into the fire. “I doubt it,” she murmured.

“I have heard,” Gale’s gentle voice slid right in to fill the quiet. “Patriarch of the Szarr family, centuries old and steeped in nasty business, if the rumors are true…”

“They probably are, if I knew of them.” She breathed. Unable to look into those kind eyes.

“I’m not surprised, Wyll Ravenguard, that you have no notion of them in your own city. They lurk in the shadows, nefarious as they come. Why, it’s rumored that he’s centuries old, some gift of immortality…”

Silence from the She-elf made him continue, even as she gave no reaction.

“…they also suspect he’s at the center of abductions, murders, missing persons…”

Still silence.

“… the boldest call him Vampire, his victims, those missing…”

“There is a wisdom in being bold,” she finally breathed.

Wyll’s eyes went wide. For someone new, he was clearly observant. “Your vampire rogue… you don’t mean…”

“It would be easier to confirm if he were here,” she snapped, raising her head to gaze into the shadows beyond their camp.

Gale scooted through the grass, closer to speak just to Cordehlia. “You know, if Astarion is Cazador’s spawn, there is danger. A master that powerful won’t stop looking for something that is his… And from what I’ve read, true vampires have such powers… turning to mist, flying, calling legions of were…”

A sharp howl pierced the quiet of the woods.

“…wolves…” Gale finished his thought as he leapt to his feet.

Cordehlia jumped, racing in the direction of the sound, managing to grab her blade and dagger as she sprinted.

Her heart pounded, every instinct in her elven body hummed to life, her quick feet and perfect balance launching her through the dark woods. Her battle intuition was on fire, following the scent of blood in the air, hoping it was from Astairon’s kill and not the Pale Elf himself.

Whatever it is, it was just ahead now. The ringing of a blade against… something denser than metal. The growling of many voices. And the grunt of one rogue, fighting for his life by the sound of it. Cordehlia drew her weapons, breaking into the clearing. No thoughts, just pure bloodlust and rage clouding her vision in crimson. Her blade tasted flesh, burying into matted grey fur. The beast howled, a death rattle as it fell to the forest floor.

All eyes turned on the now bloodied warrior, three more werewolves salivating with their glowing yellow eyes. But it was the look of pure, sheer relief on Astarion’s face that made her whole body spark and thrill.

He was alive.

And he was smiling. Feral, wild, relieved.

Cordehlia leapt over the carcass, facing the beasts, her vampire rogue at the ready at her side.

They moved as one, fluid and smooth and elegant, even as the creatures fell and spurted their streams of blood with each slice and stab the elves made. They were slow, lumbering and snapping, slashing their claws to try to block their shining blades.

But even three wolves were no match for their speed and stealth and deadly aim. With one last stab, Astarion buried his blade into the last werewolf’s neck, pulling it out to wipe it clean on the dark fur of its body.

Crodehlia stood, breath heaving, wiping her blade clean too on the nearest fallen monster.

She could feel the intensity of his stare on her back, but she wasn’t ready to face him. The question on her tongue burned too much. “Did Cazador send them for you?” she whispered, the silence of the woods falling back around them.

“Yes,” he gave that single reply. His throat bobbed up and down as he looked at her. His breath still ragged. Rough. Loud. “I thought that was it… I thought I would be taken… and then you…”

Silence. Just his breath whistling.

“Astarion,” she whispered his name with her own trembling voice.

He broke, descending on her, hands clutching around her head, pulling her lips against his. So rigid, as he kissed her, the moment their lips met, every part of her body softened. Melted. Molding into his. Relenting. Astarion couldn’t pull her close enough, and the way she tugged at him, hands pressed into his lower back, something just felt… right.

Familiar.

She was so tender… the taste of her kiss covering his tongue. And he ate it up, like one starved. Maybe he was. Maybe there was more he hungered for than blood. Than living blood.

Than her blood.

And she… that… vixen… met his hunger in equal measure. Stroke for stroke. Lick for lick. Her tongue dove between his lips. And those lips, he couldn’t get enough of their supple pucker between his own.

Gods, they had done this before. For all his mind had forgotten, his body remembered.

Remembered it well.

Her hands pressed him harder into her belly, and even without her blood in his veins, he could feel it. That fullness, that drive igniting in his goin at the way she drew herself along every inch of him.

Wanting him.

Her hands gripped into his shirt, brushing against his ass.

It was pure instinct; the override of his body, so natural and feral of a drive as his hands swept to her shirt. The collar was so flimsy, just a thin piece of fabric over her lithe, little body. It was so easy to grip and rip, the fabric giving way almost as willingly as she did. For the fearsome warrior she was, she put up no fight. Leaning in as his cold touch traced over her shoulder, caressing and adoring the swell of her breast in his palm. So easy, pressing her to retreat, her kiss keeping him bound to her, leading him until her back slammed again at a tree.

And then, she moaned. Nothing hidden or held at bay. The sound of her pure, wanton desire.

All her ferocity, her ice, her anger… gone. Relenting at last to reveal the fire inside her for him. Bright as her hair, brilliant as the lights in her eyes. Her own hands explored his body, more hesitantly.

Making him chuckle into her ravenous mouth. “Courage, my darling, you won’t hurt me. I won’t bite…” he laughed again, “unless you want…”

“Yes, Gods, yes,” she panted. The same intensity in battle now trained on him, fingers flying through the claps of his doublet, pushing it open from the curve of his shoulder.

Which he was more than willing to give her aid doing to let it tumble behind them. She breathed his name again, her voice shaking as her fingers finally explored beneath his shirt. The warm caress of her touch melting even the undead chill of his skin.

She clung to him with all the strength of her soul, desperate, fearful, relieved. The centuries of her waiting and longing finally giving way to him. Relenting to him, and the love she no longer could deny.

Somehow, he knew everything about her, with no memory to guide him. His fingers traced her cheek, that subtle rise hot to the touch as he stroked into her hair. A slight grip into the back of her head to angle her higher, making her mouth open all the more for him to plunder, a gasp that stole his breath as she moved so willingly at his command.

“You… remember…” she mouthed the words, her lips too busy to speak properly, not with the way his tongue tangled with hers.

But it was rent apart.

The crack of a branch, the crunch of leaves underfoot. It caught both their sensitive ears, making them freeze.

Hearts racing now for different reasons.

Cordehila tried to catch her breath, eyeing the pure carnage they had wreaked. “Foolish,” she chided herself, pushing him off her, finding her blades in the bloodied dirt. “That was foolish,” she hissed with wide eyes.

Astarion followed suit to find his own daggers, fighting hard to ignore the way her slightly torn blouse revealed the gapped swell of her breasts.

Gods, they looked divine. Milkwhite and full. He could still feel them in his hand.

It took all his effort to shake the lust from his head, tossing his silver curls as he tried to scan the distance for more danger.

They stood, ready, waiting, primed to kill again.

Until Gale burst into the clearing, Karlach right on his tail. “You’re alive!” she bellowed, pure joy in her breathless voice. “When you didn’t come back we thought you…” Her brows furrowed as she took into the sight of the fight. At the four dead and hairy bodies strewn about in the night. Silent as she turned her flaming head.

“Tried to come for you, he did?” Gale stating the obvious as the magical glow from his hands faded at the lack of a threat.

“I’m afraid there will be more where they came from,” Astarion sneered, that sarcastic humor lilting in his voice. “Cazador never kept pets before… other than us poor slaves, his spawn. These mindless servants are new… conjured to find me, to bring me back to…”

He shook and sputtered.

Cordehlia placed a hand on his arm. Even with them watching, in the sight of her band of fighters. Instantly, his body calmed. “We dispatched them before anyone could lay a claw on our Rogue.”

“So you can see, your little rescue was very… poorly timed…” Astarion grinned, sour and taunting as he resheathed his weapons.

He could feel the little shakes of Cordehlia’s silent laughter beside him. Gods, was that how close she was standing?

“Must have been a true battle, soldier,” Karlach's eyes went wide. “Your shirt is torn…” Then those glowing eyes rested on Astarion, equally disrobed and disarrayed. “Oh…”

She let the suspicion glance right off her, unshakable vixen she was. “It was nothing we couldn’t handle, but I am grateful for the reinforcements all the same,” she smiled back.

They all began walking back in haste to camp, Gale muttering about putting up protective wards tonight in case there were more in the woods. Hiding Astarion’s scent.

But it was that vampire rogue who insisted on following so closely on Cordehlia’s heels, she was the one who could smell him. “Grateful, are you? For the untimely help of that limp Wizard and the fire girl?”

“Grateful they care enough about us to come and help,” she replied, that same steady coldness in her voice. “You should be grateful too.”

“I’m sure you understand my reasons if I haven’t relented from irritation to find such gratitude yet…” he hissed, voice dripping with that seeping seduction. His hand catching hers where it swung freely at her side.

And she let him. Fingers interlocking for that moment. The warmth of her touch sending that now-familiar ache for more coursing through his body.

They walked that way to the edge of camp, their fingers lightly connected, their little secret behind their companions back, out of sight.

She only shook off his touch when they could finally spy the circle of light. Their campfire.

He glanced towards his tent, raising his brow at that humble little pallet in the cold. “You sure you want to sleep in the cold, darling?”

“What?” she taunted, folding her arms. “Would you rather I sleep with something cold?”

“Well,” he purred. His brows wriggled, raising and twisting in that voracious leer. “I do still get so chilled in the dark. Might be nice to cuddle up with something warm…”

“Goodnight,” she grinned, slyly and unrelentingly. “With Gale’s wards, you really should rest after that experience.”

“I’d rather… relive that experience…”

Her eyes flickered nervously, scanning around the camp. Her throat bobbed. Her face tweaking, as if her lips wanted his on them again.

Then she just gave him a warm smile, subtle. Inviting. “Goodnight, darling…” she purred back at him before crossing to her little bedroll.

“You know,” he called after her, keeping his distance as hard as it was. “After today, after how you leapt into the dark to … to help me, to find me, I hope you can see it is a strength for you to be so vicious, ruthless, and blood spattered. It’s what saved me…”

Her smile widened, her lips tweaking, definitely fighting the urge to kiss him now. Again. But she turned and departed for her bed. Alone.

Astarion could only shake his head and groan, a sigh of discontentment. But at least he knew he would maybe dream about the softness of her body than the glare of the wolves sent to hunt him down.

And for that, he was grateful.

[pursuitseternal]

“Seducing:” smut with angst update to ETL Astarion x f!Tav (OC) in “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x f!OC | E | 4.4 K of flashbacks, angst, and smut

Summary: After defeating the Goblin, a celebration is in order. And there is only one Cordehlia wishes to accept as far as his seduction goes. And it ends in a secluded little grove, someplace quiet and intimate, where things don’t go totally according to seductive plans.

Spoilers: Tiefling party and Act 1 Romance retold

CW: angst, flashbacks, lost love rekindled, first time part 2, trauma triggers, sexy shirt swap with consequences, Cordehlia breaks her 200 year dry spell

Previous Chapter | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 6: Seducing…

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Festivities, a celebration. But all words of joy and mirth and rewards slipped barely past her muted ears. Cordehlia smiled, shaking hands and accepting the thanks of the Tieflings, but it only vaguely entered her consciousness.

To hear her name again, spoken with unholy admiration… with fearful awe from her companions… it agitated her. Stirred her.

Not that any of them treated her differently for it, not even those that had remained at camp, who missed the images as they flashed in her mind through the tadpole.

Shadowheart even seemed… nicer because of it. Impressed that she wasn’t some full-blooded High Elf to look down on her as a half-elf. That she wasn’t some entitled, prissy noble to cast judgment on others. The cleric had even smiled at her as Cordehlia cleaned and sharpened her infamous blade.

If anything was off, it was Astarion’s distance. Keeping himself on the other side of the group, even as his eyes watched her every move. His mouth teasing at the corner, a flicker in his eyes once they locked their gazes.

Oh, he was good, she thought, as she smiled slightly, knowingly, wagging her fingers coyly as she waved at him through the crowd. Smiling wider as he nodded in reply. Making himself scarce to draw out her lust. Making her long for his closeness by forcing some distance.

She sniffed a derisive if amused laugh.

As if they hadn’t stood shoulder to shoulder being drenched in blood. As if he hadn’t stolen a little kiss in the middle of the Goblin camp when no one was looking, his words sweet and sensual, how she never looked more beautiful than she did in that moment.

As if he hadn’t licked the blood of her enemies spattered on her neck before taking a quick bite of her living essence. Just to replenish before the next attack, he had reasoned with a smirk and a caress on her lips. A kiss so coppery and salty with her blood.

She sighed at the memory, however recent. Her body hummed, that shadow of bloodlust slinking back into its den. Sated for now, sated by killing for good. If this was being a hero, as the Tieflings named her, then perhaps…

Perhaps she wasn’t unredeemable.

Perhaps she could join in the festivities.

She eyed Astarion from across the gathering, watching as he threw her a glance, his pale hand snatching a green glass bottle of wine to raise it to his lips. She shook her head, wondering just how much wine it would take to make a Vampire feel any effects.

“Well,” a warm voice caught her attention from over her shoulder. Cordehlia turned to find Gale’s soft smile curling his lips, a bottle in his hand of the same looking vintage. “I shouldn’t be so taken aback that you show as much prowess with the blade as you do with your unflappable wisdom of leadership, Cordehlia,” he commented, his lips moving a bit… strangely. As if he was trying to smirk.

“Hmm…” Cordehlia cocked her head, drawing back a step. “Is this your attempt at flirtation, master wizard?”

“I was going for seduction,” he hemmed his eyebrows raising in shock into his hairline. “But I would settle for flirtation to be sure.”

Cordehlia’s face quirked, amused and yet… not all at once. “Do not think me ungrateful, Gale, but after a long day… after revealing my rich and bloodied past, I’m most surprised you would make such an advance.”

“What better time to assure you of my affection and loyalty other than after such a bloodied revelation,” he replied, so seriously, edged with concern. “I want you to know I find you charming despite such a troubling past… but we all have our trials. We have all made our own dark sacrifices…”

“Who said that anyone should appreciate her charms despite such a past?” that silken, sultry voice purred from beside her. Close beside her. Astarion stood, bemused, drinking from his wine bottle and sneering. “I rather find it all the more arousing…”

Crodehlia turned to stare at him, her gaze exacting but… not cold… not uninviting.

“Says the one who was part of her past…” Gale scoffed. “I do not think I am in error, however, I can see when my attentions are no longer pleasing.” He bowed his head, “Just do not forget, Codehlia, the choices of our past do not need to define our choices in the present.” He looked into the distance, rubbing that strange mark on his chest. “At least, that’s the hope I have to cling to, in my own case. Good night to you.”

With that, he gave one last longing grin before turning to be swallowed by the milling crowds.

Her vampire rogue sucked his teeth, shaking his silver head in feigned pity. “I do so hate to see such sensitive souls running with their tails between their legs when you turn them down,” Astarion smirked wickedly.

“You love it, Astarion,” Cordehlia matched his taunting expression.

“Well, can you blame me?” he purred in reply. “Gale looks so dejected, especially after I heard him rehearsing his offer of romance with you over and over again. All the way from the Goblin camp back here.”

“It was very eloquent,” she shrugged her shoulders demurely. “So many words, so much feeling…”

Astarion lowered his bottle from his lips mid-drink. “Well, if it’s eloquence you want, darling, you had but to…”

Cordehlia grabbed him by his collar, pulling him close enough at last. She latched onto his smirking, twisted, irritating mouth. Kissing him silent.

It was not words she wanted. No, she craved action.

That bottle dropped at their feet. His hands instantly pressed at her back, that cold, commanding touch drawing her flush against his unyielding body.

“Yes,” she rasped between the hungry working of his lips on hers. “Yes, I turned him down flat. Yes, I hated his judgment of my past.” She moaned as his tongue darted between her lips, tasting her sweet words of desire. “Yes, is my only answer for you…”

“Yes what, darling?” he growled into her mouth, hands skating up the linen of her shirt, down the softness of her breeches. “I want to hear just what you’re agreeing to…”

“Yes, I will meet you. Yes I want you… I have always wanted you. I never stopped wanting you…” She couldn’t stop now either, not with how her body was burning up after the day, not with how intoxicating it felt to have his mouth on hers again after so, so long. Her words, her kiss, the way her innards went molten to have him pressed so hard against her body… none it would stop now.

“Where?” he groaned into her mouth, his fangs tugging on her lower lips to make her sigh. “When?”

Gods, his hand clawed around her neck now, bringing her all the closer. Until she couldn’t tell what was his breath or hers any longer.

“I know some place quiet,” she whispered, breaking to look into his lust-glazed eyes. “Someplace we can…”

“Fuck?”

“I was going to say find some intimacy…” she gave a little giggle, deep and flirtatious in her throat.

“You know, my tent is just around the bend, darling…” his fingers, so light and so cold on her neck traced so featherlight on her skin.

“Too public, too conspicuous,” she grimaced with a pout. “And I doubt either of us will be very secretive. We have centuries to make up for.” Her lip twitched, her eyes locked into those crimson ones. For a moment, she loved them more than the old ones, the ones as deep violet as the night sky. These… these fit him. These reflected her own soul now. These echoed the blood she had been bathed in, same as him.

And he would never begrudge her that past.

“In that case…” he purred, letting her body go from the strength of his arms, “won’t you lead on?”

Cordehlia looked around, most of the Tieflings were too drunk by now to really care or comment on their moment of passion. And as for her party of companions… well they all would learn eventually.

“Take that path, follow five minutes after me,” she whispered, nodding towards the dirt road behind her. She pursed her lips and batted her eyes. “See you there, darling…”

She waited. Counting her every breath. Regretting one thing, that she had separated from him. Counting on him to come.

That ancient panic crept over her heart again. The one that had been her only companion as she had waited at the roadside for months. Clinging to his letters until they, too, were stolen from her.

All but one.

She pressed her hand against her chest, feeling where she kept it stashed away. Hidden inside her tunic. Her own little secret over the centuries. Kept close to her heart.

Didn’t even need to read it anymore to recite the lines scrawled in his unfading, neat and tidy script.

It had been the last letter to arrive. Once she had lost all hope. Once she had lost all his other letters to the winter wind.

But it was also the one that had made his disappearance, his death, filled with indescribable pain.

His words were soft, sweet seduction. Details of how he longed for her, how he was to send for her since, at last, his final, infamous case finally closed to great approval and effect. This was the one to launch him into fame and favor.

He was coming to fetch her. To marry her. To make her his.

He had written of how much he longed for her, the taste of her and not just her mouth, the heat of her skin as it had felt beneath him, the way her body had moved with him and held him that one night….

Gods, she swallowed, keeping the tears from her eyes as her heart raced.

Even now, waiting for their reunion, it was too painful to recall.

Breathing, she reminded herself he was coming. That it was better this way. That he had no memory of what once was… of what had been lost.

Something crunched behind her, making Cordehlia turn slowly, her face suddenly breaking into a smile of relief. Brilliant and shining. And wanton.

He stopped just shy of her, already so close on his silent, roguish footsteps. “There you are…” he crooned, drawing just a breath away from where she waited. “I just couldn’t wait any longer, darling, after all,” he flashed her that ravenous smirk, lowering those heavy-lidded crimson eyes scanning her up and down, “we have been waiting long enough…”

Some more than others, her mind purred in anticipation. Her breath caught in her chest as his hands wandered towards her hips. His touch was heavy, insistent. Conjuring her body to throb at the first contact he made.

“There is nothing I want more, darling Cordehlia, than to celebrate your victory, just you and me…” his touch still, his eyes widening, softened and pleading. “Assuming your answer is still that same resounding yes…”

“Yes, I am eager for your seducing,” she interjected at the same time. Her hands pulled at the edges of his tunic sneaking under the light fabric to caress him, but instantly, she felt him brace himself. Rigid even as his hands tried to flutter naturally over her own body.

“As am I,” he raped the words, letting her fingers slowly, gently. His breath was slow… measured. His stomach muscles bunched and clenched as she stroked.

He was harder than she recalled, leaner. The muscles and frame of one who was always fighting… fighting for life, for survival, not just as her ferocious rogue. His head shook a bit as her hands explored his skin, wagging back and forth as if he was drinking in her touch. “I can make you feel every inch of me, darling, if that is what you seek.”

“Gods,” she breathed, her hand tugging his shirt higher, leaning in for a kiss.

A kiss she found firm, demanding, insistent.

Distracting. His hands caughts hers, a little charming laugh on his lips and he pulled them over her own head. “Oh, my darling, my lady, you don’t lift a finger tonight,” his voice so honeyed, it almost tasted too sweet. “You don’t need to touch a thing…”

Swiftly, he backed her into the nearest tree, and her body was more than willing to respond. He was just as magnificent as she remembered, powerful and sleek.

Even more now, her centuries old vampire.

One hand pinned her arms over her head, his hips bearing into hers, rough and hard and grinding against where she ached. Where she burned for more of his seducing.

His touch wandered beneath her tunic, hard and cold, ghosting just barely over her belly and up to cradle her breast. His lips mesmerized her, pulling her into his every movement, his touch consuming her making her mind lose itself, a thrall of his body.

Before she knew it, he had thrown her shirt over her head, hands softly drawing her burnished lock free, and extra little tuck of the most errant strands behind her pointed ear before he pinned her hands above her again.

That hair tuck, the little extra brush of his fingers over the tip of her ear… it made her shiver and shudder. From pleasure. From recognition. Another thing he had done so long ago, and from the way he gazed at her with all that predatory lust that hardened his chiseled features, she doubted it meant the same to him.

But it was a tragic thought soon swallowed up as his mouth pressed against her neck. A hungry kiss, an unspoken question as he dragged his fangs over her unopened veins.

She tugged against his confining grip, managing to let one hand slip. One had she immediately ran into those silver, unruly, untamable locks to press his mouth all the closer against her skin. It was all the permission he needed, sinking his fangs into her neck with her next breath. Making a cry ring from her lips as he began to suck on her blood, his lips loud and wet as he drank her down. The feeling of that new, intoxicating union, of her blood filling his body, it once again distracted her, occupying her every sense until she realized his hands had loosened her breeches, his long, dexterous fingers slinking their way down her thigh, cupping her swollen mound.

He lifted his mouth, licking his blood red lips, like a beast that had fed and fed well. That smirk made her body quicken to life, a spasm taking her breath away, her loins clenching hard enough that he could feel it in his palm. And it only made that smirk widen, more ravenous and feral.

“Seems like you require little seducing, my sweet,” he purrs, the tip of one finger parting her folds to dip into her slick.

“Seems like you underestimate what hundreds of years of waiting will do to a female,” she panted back, trying to tug her single, remaining hand from under his iron hold.

Something softened in his face at her words, that heavy curtain of desire lifting as a gentle smile teased one corner, one still-bloodied corner, of his mouth. “You… you waited?” he whispered, the words almost stuck in his throat. Almost choking on them as he swallowed.

“Our kind… we don’t enter into the promises to marry lightly. There is magic, binding… vows that last centuries once exchanged…” Now it was her voice that stuck, his fingers stilled deep between her thighs.

“Oh, darling…” he crooned, that finger inside her curling and twisting and pumping once more. “Then I shall make this night all more delicious for you, Cordehlia…”

“Let me for you as well,” she rasped, her voice filled with the pain of all her tormentous years. “It’s like… you’re back from the dead for me.”

His face tweaked, a firmness to his lips, a menacing glint to his eye. “If only that was true…” he hissed.

Cordehlia shushed him, her free hand running her nails down his scalp, down his neck, slowly straying over his shoulders and down his back…

He snapped. Fangs bared at her touch. Growling as she touched… something on his flesh. Rises and ridges hard and puckered beneath her fingers.

“Are - are those scars?” she whispered.

“I was trying so hard,” he hissed, voice so scratched and deep it was almost hard to understand. “Hard to keep you from seeing them, from touching them…”

“I’m sorry… I didn’t…”

He spat, furious and unbridled, “Know? Of course you didn’t know… even I don’t know what they look like. It’s not like I can view the atrocity Cazador carved in my own flesh, can I?” He pulled his hand from her thighs, drawing back a step, the muscles of his chest heaving with every shaky breath he took. “It’s not like I can undo any of that, to take it all back and begin again from the life I had once…. That we had once…”

His eyes widened, softened at that.

“I know,” Cordehlia kept her distance, but she still held his gaze, as irascible and enraged and tormented as it was. “None of us can, and none of us should,” her voice was smooth, a balm to his wounds. “You would have told me the same.”

“It’s harder to enact that advice than it is to give,” he growled again. “These scars on my back… he made them over the course of a single night, carving them and recarving them each time I so much as screamed or squirmed or breathed… it was not half so cruel as making me whore myself out, seducing anyone and everyone I could to be fodder for my master’s meals, at least these wounds healed.” He shook his shoulders. “There are things I’ve done that I would never speak aloud, things I’ve had done to me that I…”

His eyes went blank. His gaze locked into the distance, staring without seeing into her face.

“Astarion, I’m so, so sorry… You need not explain…” she began, reaching a gentle hand for his cheek, to stroke his ear.

But he only recoiled, hissing like a feline and baring his teeth at her. “Perhaps you better go find a way to celebrate with someone… less…” he stopped. His face tweaked with remorse and regret. “Less dead inside,” he finished.

She slid away, giving him the space for which he asked. Grabbing a shirt from the ground, she started to return to camp. Her heart broke, her mind racing. Perhaps he was… perhaps so little remained of what he was. Perhaps she was too much of a weight on his soul, an anchor holding him down in his past and his darkness than a way for him to heal at last.

Hurriedly, she threw on the shirt, eager to leave him behind. But she froze.

It wasn’t hers.

That citrus scent. Bright and sharp and clean. The linen hanging from her frame so large, its ruffles cut so deep, her breast nearly peeked out. It was his.

With a groan, she turned on her heel. His shirt on her back was the last thing she could stomach tonight.

She returned in a moment. He had barely moved in the clearing. His back angled towards her, those scars covering every inch in jagged lines and dots and whorls. Infernal, she took note, but it wasn’t as much of a shock as what she observed in his hands.

Her shirt hung at his side, gripped tightly in his fist. And his other… it held up that nearly two-hundred year old scrap of paper. She watched his profile, his lips licking, his eyes rapidly scanning his own neat little scrawl…

“Astarion…” she breathed. His head snapping up as she approached.

“I…” he panted quickly, eyes wide in a strange sort of panic. “You… we…”

“Yes,” she smiled, a barely turned smile, one that dripped with all the sadness in her ancient heart.

“This is my handwriting,” he whispered, her footsteps cautious as she closed the distance between them. “I… I sent this. That very day I was killed and turned. I wrote this from my desk, my pen leaking from dashing it off so quickly. My heart raced with the anticipation of seeing you again… of holding you again and kissing you again and…” his mouth closed shut. A grimace of pain as he closed his eyes. As if he was feeling it all over. “…of making love with you again. As we had before I… I…”

Cordehlia’s heart rapt so fast. The thrill of his memory, the slice of agony it was conjuring between them. Forcing them both to relive those days.

“That night before you left, I wanted to give you something to remember me by, Astarion. And you, you were so proud, so eager. You couldn’t get enough that night, promising me that the next time we would join in that way, we would be one in our vows…”

She trailed off, for a moment, that memory flashed in her mind, of warm firelight in the forest… of the heat of his body covering her as he slid inside her so slowly and tenderly for the first time…. How she could feel his heart beating in his chest, like a tether crafted between their souls that sang in their blood the moment they coupled.

She realized as she looked into his eyes, he had seen it too. His eyes soft and wide as the memory passed before his vision. But that hold of the parasite was dormant. No, this was a different kind of magic. A different kind of bond.

He dropped everything from his hands, fingers clawing into the fabric of his shirt on her body, pulling it off her in a fluid motion. They crashed together, mouths and hands and bodies crushing one another. Famished for that feeling of one another again.

No more pretenses or games or seductive manipulations. No more shadows of fear. No more guilt for the phantoms of their sins and bloodshed. No longer victims or monsters or killers.

It was only them.

Only the taste of one another’s tongues. Only the hurried fumbling of their hands to slide their breeches to the ground with all their burning haste.

It was madness, maddening how just on fire her body was, how even as he laid her down in the grass and covered her with his powerful body, how every inch of his skin was so cold and smooth and hardened with muscle, he still felt so good. So familiar.

The grass on her back, the persistent grinding of his length, now hardened and freed and pulsing against her mound and stomach… it was that intoxicating mix of thrilling and healing all at once.

His mouth devoured her breath, feasting on the feeling of her tongue, her flavor, her taste consuming him.

He didn’t even once withdraw, no flinching as her hands ran up and down his back, hugging him so close, making him crush her into the earth.

And he, he couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get lost in her anymore than he already had. Every kiss, every brush of her fingers, every buck of her hips beneath him… he was found again. More found than he had felt in all those lonely years.

Her legs raised, gripping around his hips, body arching and voice crying his name for him to take her. As if he needed anything more to seduce him. A slight angling of hips, and he slid right in. It was so wet, so tight, she felt virginal still.

His. All his.

He had been between countless legs, gotten on his back a thousand times.

But this… there was nothing sullied or spoiled. Nothing like compulsion or coercion. Not even a hint or manipulation.

Just the way she felt around him, the way she looked into his eyes, those bright silver ones that refracted the starlight. She moved with him as one, every thrust sending him deeper as she bucked against him. Every arch of her back and swivel of her hips, it made his mouth water, his body humming with actual desire and need.

He couldn’t look away, even if he had wanted to. The way her face contorted and grinned and sweated… he wanted to commit every detail to his new memories. Instead of chasing the vestiges of what was. He thrust every inch of him through her, gasping every time he felt her throbbing around him. Wanting to taste her, wanting to watch her, wanting to fill her to bursting.

He wanted to satisfy her. To make her feel him fucking and fill her with so much pleasure, it was all she could think about when she looked at him with those beautiful, exacting eyes. Most of all, he wanted to come back to her after everything they had endured apart, to give her everything she had longed for all those years.

One slip of a finger between their legs, he stroked her, teasing her hard little clit with all the dexterity he could muster, so close to coming undone himself.

Her mouth flew open, voice catching and moaning and sobbing. Her body grew so warm, so wet, and every spam that consumed her as she came, every writhing twist and clench of her as he thrust… It made him smile. It made him alive. Alive enough to steal his breath as he came too, pulsing and throbbing as he filled her, exhausting him for the moment as he lowered down into her soft and yielding embrace.

He panted, forehead pressed against her temple, nose tucked neatly against her chin. Licking his lips, he smelled her scent. That meadow-flowered freshness that instantly filled him with those new-found memories. Her veins throbbed against his face, her heart beating so hard, for a moment, he thought it was his own.

Back from the dead.

“Gods,” he swallowed, out of breath and unable to raise his head. “That was…”

Her hands lifted the deadweight of his head, bringing his still-suffocated mouth to her own. “Shhh,” she smiled into pursing lips. “Just do it again, please.”

“With pleasure,” was all he could manage in reply.

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Thank you for all the comments and notes! I do so love seeing your reactions and favorite parts… and this one is a doozy 💞

[pursuitseternal]

“Stripping,” a nsfw, hurt/comfort, and vengeance update to “Our Blood is Thicker:”

Astarion x Cordehlia (named Tav) | E | 6.3K

Summary: The fight for vengeance for her father comes at last to Ketheric, so long as Astarion is there to keep on hand on her, to keep her from getting lost in the bloodlust of the Bone Picker. Cordehlia needs healing… her burdens of her past too great to bear alone. That’s why her love is there, to strip away her old griefs, and all that covers her.

CW: Bloodlust, angst, revenge, hurt/comfort, allusions to battle-canon gore, Act 2 Spoilers, real sex, tadpole stripping (symbolic), very soft Dom!Astarion

Previous ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 13: Stripping…

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Moonrise Towers. A curse nearly broken. The Moonmaiden Aylin freed, and the source of that monster's immortality unchained. Only one thing remained to their moving forward.

Ketheric had to die.

They had come close, so close. The rest of his bone-chilled undead fighters were dust at their feet. But then… there was that oozing orifice now in the top of the Moonrise Towers, the illithid stink rising from its bowels. A hole where Ketheric had vanished like the coward he was, threat on top of threat, into the putrid heart of the Absolute.

Cordehlia ran right for it, blade at the ready, pursuing after Ketheric alone. A battle cry tore through the air as she sprinted. Blood spattered. Breathless.

Hellsbent on revenge.

Two sets of feet ran for her… one shifting into a bear just to make sure he got there before she did anything rash. The Druid panted as he raised up on his massive hind feet. Cordehlia slammed into a wall of fur, two lean vampiric arms not far behind to catch her against Halsin’s big bear belly.

“Stop, stop, darling,” Astarion repeated over and over. But the She-elf thrashed even as her weapons were pinned to her sides. Even as she snapped her teeth and hissed in rage at them both.

Her eyes were pure black, dilated so wide with bloodlust. Her need to kill, to avenge.

To repay the debt she had carried for a century, the weight of her Father’s lost soul.

“Let me go, damn you both,” she snarled. Her voice was deep, scratched with all her battle screams.

“Not until you see sense, my love,” Astarion tried to cajole, tried to hold her armored body against his own even as she shook, the rush of her need to kill shooting down every muscle of her body. The bear grunted, a warning, and Astarion held her fast to turn them, to keep the splatter of mud from covering their already filthy bodies as the Druid shifted back.

“Your father wouldn’t want you to fall headlong into danger,” Halsin instantly interjected the moment he could. And for once, Astarion was a tinge glad the ancient elf could help. Especially as he felt her body slowly begin to still at the sound of reason. “You need to regroup, think of your strategy before you dive into the belly of the enemy. That place reeks of Illithids and pulses with the power of the Absolute,” Halsin’s deep voice rumbled, slow and soothing tones that rippled with persuasion and wisdom.

“Ketheric must die,” Cordelia thrashed again, back to her lover’s chest, elbows trying to free herself and making her vampire grunt and hiss in the process. “To break the curse, to end the Absolute, to avenge all that has been taken from me… all that made me this… weapon. I need…” her voice grew feral, threatening in a way that made every one of her companions quake in their boot, “to crush him… I need his blood.”

“Gods,” Astarion tried to gently stroke her face, “now which one of us sounds vampiric, darling?” He whispered, catching the edge of her long and pointed ear in his fingers. Something behind her eyes softened, something that turned that black back to singing silver, slowly, stroke by stroke of his fingers.

Until she stilled completely, limp in his arms, smiling gently as she looked into his face at last.

“There now, little Raven,” he whispered only for her ear as he caressed it.

“You’ll have your justice, little one,” Halsin drew closer. And Astarion fought hard not to bristle at the way his green eyes smiled at his love. “But we need to regroup, gather our forces before we dive into that Mindflayer colony to end Ketheric once and for all.”

“Fine,” Cordehlia stood on her own two feet, finally steady, calm enough that Astarion was pretty sure she wouldn’t launch down that stinking hole alone. “I hear wisdom in your words, my Father’s own sort.” She squared her shoulders, hands quickly resheathing her weapons with a metallic hiss. “We rest a few moments, then we cut him off… cut him down.”

The whole party gave a sigh of relief, finding places here and there to sit, to wipe the blood from their eyes and sharpen their weapons a moment.

Halsin left them to do the same, beginning his work of healing whatever little wounds they had sustained. And Astairon finally felt the peace of being with her alone, for that moment. Even with her back towards him, her eyes fixed on their next move of attack, he couldn’t leave her. “My love,” he bid her softly. “Come and sit a moment with me, won’t you?”

“No,” she replied, fixed forward still. “I won’t rest until his blood is shed and my Father is avenged.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cordehlia,” he tutted his tongue, moving to put himself in her line of sight. Those eyes at first scowled at him… the same way she once did when they first… stumbled upon one another again. There was loathing, hatred. Bloodlust even. It sliced through him, pain cutting right to his slow-beating, undead heart. “What’s wrong, my love?” he frowned, folding his arms across his own armored chest.

“What’s wrong?” she scoffed, vitriol in her voice and hate in her eyes. “I am so close to avenging my Father… so close to fighting my way back to who I once was before I lost my only family to Ketheric, so close to reclaiming what I was when you first loved me…. I am so close to cleaning my hands from all the blood I shed as the Bone Picker, so close to clearing my body of the damned mantle of my former self. My dark self.”

A warm voice cleared its throat at a distance beside them. “Well, that is most encouraging, I must interject…”

Astarion had to force his lips to stay shut, to keep himself from snarling and letting his fangs do the talking. “I don't think Cordehlia invited you to join our very private conversation… Gale… and I know I didn’t extend an invitation…”

“Well,” the Wizard shifted as Cordehlia turned to look into his own face. Her eyes still hardened, her mouth still turned in a scowl, “a fresh start… a new beginning, once this is all through, it’s what you deserve, Cordehlia.”

Astarion bristled. “Forgive me, but maybe what she deserves is to know that what she was has made her what she is… perfect and stronger and fiercer. Capable of bringing down the Absolute, capable of so much more than that.” He could hear it in his own voice, that edge of a hiss, that rasp of threat he hoped made Gale quake and shut his mouth. “Unlike those of us who tried to win the love of a goddess of magic to be cursed with some magical blight… Some of us have a sordid past that has made us embrace the monster we are and use it to our… advantage.”

Cordehlia turned, her love, her fierce defender… she felt something inside her ease as he braced his whole frame, ready to attack at her side. He never saw her as a monster, never condemned her for the blood that stained her past and dripped from her hands. He couldn’t chastise her without naming the same fault in himself. Not that he saw it as fault. Only suffering and torture and loss.

For what fault was there in him? Made to be tortured, made to seduce and use his body for his master’s delight…

And she… she had been formed like adamantine… stronger than a blade, more deadly than any spell. She would end this enemy… Ketheric, the Absolute…

Crodehila took a steadying breath, drawing closer to place one gauntleted hand on Astarion’s arm. “It is the darkest forces, the most devastating pressure that forms the sharpest weapons. And you can’t escape that darkness, that pressure or else… you become brittle ....”

She watched her words take hold, sinking into his chest, his heart, the source of his blight. Gale’s eyes fluttered closed to hear her speak. “None of us need to shatter, not even you, no matter what self-sacrifice has been demanded of you by your former lover. Embrace who you are, what you have learned in the dark, and we will make it out of this.”

Astarion smiled so softly down at her—his unshakable warrior. Every head nodding in approval.

Cordehlia took a trembling inhale, almost watching her reflection in her mind, covered in that fearsome armor of Lady Corvus, smiling back at her. Brighter. Part of her. But not in control. “We can walk from this side by side, once this is all through. And we will all be made that much sharper for it.”

Even that made Gale smile, spurned as he was, jealous or determined… it didn’t seem to burn so bright inside him anymore. “You’re right,” he shook his head, “damned wisdom of the elves… I can’t argue with that.”

The vampire sucked his teeth, a little cock of his head rife with sarcasm. “If only you’d listen with that same rapt attention to me, sometime,” Astarion sneered even as he laughed.

“Not sure you count as an elf…” Gale tossed back, “or wise…”

Karlach snorted with laughter, breaking what could have been tense silence. Chuckles, giggles filled the air, until even Cordehlia’s bubbly, medical laugh peeled beside him. And that made his own lips smile.

Besides, there would be plenty of time to shame Gale as the butt of many a joke soon. Once Ketheric was dead.

That event came with such relief. Came with lots of blood and vengeance and gore. But in the end, Cordehlia stood over Ketheric’s headless corpse, the blood of his undead body caking her boots.

Her blade hung at her side, having struck the death blow at last. Its tip dragged noisily on the ground behind her as she stepped away. The scraping echoing in the massive cavern. Her voice was hoarse as she tried to speak, sore from screaming at him as she had hacked his body, howling the name of her Father, unburdening all the things she had carried on her shoulders from her grief.

Her eyes were wet, wide, and sad as she looked at her bedraggled friends. Her love. “Let's move from here,” she scratched out. “We have more things to do.”

Cordehlia straggled, barely sliding one foot in front of the other. Her eyes looked hazy… distant.

Faint. Her vision swam… a weight off her heart, she could almost feel the Shadow Curse lifting from the lands, almost see her Father’s smooth, smiling face one more time. But there was so much more to do… more enemies to defeat, the chosen of Bhaal and Bane… an army of the Absolute to vanquish, not to mention a Netherbrain to somehow destroy.

It was too much for even her adamantine-hardened soul.

Her knees buckled, but before her body smacked into blood-covered stone, Astarion caught her. Somehow, that lean, vampiric, roguish body lifted her in his arms and over his shoulder, armor and all. Somehow, she could smell his scent of citrus and hers through the tang of blood and gore. Somehow, she could hear his soothing hush inside her mind as she drifted unconscious for a moment.

She had barely moved, still breathing, as she laid in his mess of blankets inside his tent. Halsin bent his hulking body over Cordehlia, and Astarion could only watch as the healing magic glowed around her unarmored body. He kept his lithe fingers in his love’s hair, brushing out snarls, stroking up and down her ears tenderly and slowly. Just to let her know he was there.

“There now,” Halsin grunted as he sat back on his haunches. “She should awaken herself. A bit lighter in the heart I wouldn’t be surprised, after finally finishing what she thought her Father started.”

Astarion couldn’t fight the instinct to have his hackles raised when the Druid spoke about her and her past. But all the same, he forced that well-practiced friendly smile. “Thank you, Druid,” he said. “I’ll take it from here, get her cleaned.”

“Using your tongue or do you prefer the dish and rag?”

“That’s rather impertinent,” Astarion let his fangs show this time.

“I’m only joking,” Halsin chortled, deep and low in his chest as he reached for the basin of water and a rag to bring within reach. “No one is trying to take her from you, you know. You’ve rekindled a bond so strong, so thick, I doubt it will sever even in death.”

The vampire felt his nostrils flare.

“Well, a second one in your case,” Halsin quickly added, that warm smile turning his scarred face.

“There is not much that can outlast even death itself,” he took the bowl from the Druid’s massive hands, busying himself with washing her face clean first. “Not unless you are undead… immortal.”

“I’m… forgive me, I believe I touched a delicate nerve.”

Astarion kept his hands busy; it always helped him think, rest, and concentrate. “Attachments are of little consequence to those who are not in them, Druid.”

“Attachment? You mean love, surely?”

Raising his head with a snap, he leveled his gaze at the massive, crouching Elf. “I do,” he snipped. “There is nothing I would not do to keep her now. After all the mistakes I have made, all the suffering I was forced to put others through.” He paused to wipe some more of the dried blood from her beautiful face. “She might be the one thing I have done right in my life, undead or before… as long as I don’t fuck it up again.”

“If you do… love her… then it is only natural to trust your instincts. You will protect her better than anyone or anything.”

For once, Astarion looked up at the Druid and didn’t feel jealousy or hatred or even annoyance. He was… grateful. “Thank you… Halsin,” he replied, wringing out the rag to get fresh water once more.

“I’d say ‘shout if you need anything,’ but I suspect once she wakes you will be shouting for other reasons, ones you won’t want… disturbed,” he chuckled in that deep bellied way of his before he left the tent.

Astarion couldn’t help the smile on his face, wiping the last steaks of grime from her chin before he placed a soft kiss on those lips. And as her eyes did flutter open, her breath deepening the moment their lips met, he did feel that thickening in his groin. “Welcome back, my love,” he whispered, savoring the way her lips gave a small smile.

Just for him.

She stirred, her shift and leathers shuffling as she moved stiffly. Looking at her hands cleaned, her armor removed, she even touched a hand to her slightly damp cheek. Washed skin under her touch. Cordehlia slowly sat, eyes that were so dilated with bloodlust not hours ago now shined with unshed tears, her pink lips trembling as she pulled her arms around Astarion’s neck. Hanging there for a moment, he breathed her in, listening to the symphony of her heartbeat in her veins as it increased in speed. That thickening and heat in his body only surged the more to have her so close, relieved at last once she pulled his body hard to cover her own.

She was more than reward… she was the one thing he had done right in all his tormented existence.

Tonight, like every night, was bliss now, his own personal reward each day and night to be at her side. Sometimes Astarion felt the bitterest of pangs when he started to think about being denied such pleasure and love and acceptance century after century. But those grumblings in his heart were always soon swept away by Cordehlia. The one who took him just as he was. Resentment was warmed by her adoration, distracted by her warmth and wet, wherever it was. Memories of torment and torture and knives and whips and flaying punishment grew dimmer, her beauty obscuring the flashes he would get of his blood pooling at his feet, her scent covering the phantom stink of the kennels.

It was her warmth that brought him back from the dead, and he was sure there was no grave now that could keep him away from her.

What was lost was found, and for gods sake, nothing would take it away. Now that he found something he finally deserved. Not that he believed it…

Not as he gazed up into her blushing face as she rode him furiously, her hands clenching into his. Not as he had to tighten every tendon in his arms to steady her since she wasn’t watching anymore. He laughed at her carelessness, too lost to the feeling of him inside her and the waves of pleasure he called to race down her spine.

“Fuck,” she let the uncouth curse slip from her rosy lips. Something inside his mind stirred, that old tickle inside him from before, from how freely she would let the word fly as a youth, as frowned upon as it was for her status.

“Such noble lips letting out such vulgar words, darling,” he growled, his breath thin as she pushed him closer with every slap of her body on his cock and thighs.

“Oh, you like… all the vulgar things my lips do with you…” Her words turned to cries, stilted and low, only half-stifled to keep their voices from giving too much away. Cordehlia shuddered, squeezing him as her orgasm swelled. He eased her softly as she collapsed against his chest, her forehead in that sweet dip between his muscles, the top of her red head tucking neatly under his nose.

His hand strayed to the back of her neck, softly and slowly rolling her over on the ground. Cradling her beneath him instead. His body cried out for more. Always more of her. But not before he inhaled that scent, the perfume of her sweat and life itself, verdant grass and blooming flowers. That scent triggered an instant sharp return of what they once had been.

What he wanted to find again more than life itself.

It wasn’t much longer, not as he chased that past feeling of being with her in their youth. Not as he pummeled into her channel, her legs splayed in the air over his shoulders, until there was no sound but the wet slap of flesh and their groans as they burst into their climaxes as one.

Astarion stilled, pulling from her wet to lay on their sides and wrap his arms so tightly around her. “My sweet…” his voice rumbled into the damp and errant strands of her hair where it clung to her sweating forehead.

Her warm and blushing face nestled perfectly into the dip beneath his chin. The bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed and caught his breath was so loud against her ear. “Almost ready for more?” she hummed, tracing her fingers slowly over his skin, brushing over the drying damp on his stomach.

“You… insatiable… minx…” he laughed as he kissed her head again. “I know I am an eternally young, handsome, well-fed, impossibly strong vampire… but even I have limits to my near-infinite well of endurance, my love.”

She flashed him those silver pools of her eyes, glinting with mischief. And then her lips pouted. “After all we endured today… you would make me take care of myself?”

His brows shot to his hairline, mouth twisting in a devilish smirk at her game. “And which one of us is acting the spoiled little elfling now?” he taunted, hand straying to ass to give that supple cheek a little slap. “Tch, naughty.”

“Going to chastise me… punish me for being so spoiled and demanding?” she purred, a slight tilt to her head in defiance, a wriggle of her rear as a silent plea for more.

Astarion lifted his head to slink one of his arms behind it. “Perhaps later… once I’ve regained some of my vigor after you’ve made every one of my limbs ache and since you’ve already taken… so much of my seed between your thighs, pet.” He pretended to close his eyes, watching through the lowered curtain of his long lashes as she pouted and crawled over his body until she pressed herself flush against his side.

“I’ll give you five minutes…” she whispered right into his ear. “Enough time for me to tend to my own needs, I suppose…”

Wet… slick little sounds laid under her voice. Her fingers touched herself, stroking in the thick mix of their cum so loudly, so obscenely squelching.

He turned his head with a dramatic sigh, opening that hungry crimson gaze only halfway so he could watch. “You really are a demanding commander aren’t you? So bossy… so dominating… I would have undoubtedly been constantly aroused by you if I had been one of your men.”

Her perfect white teeth bit at her bottom lip, fingers still teasing slowly between her legs. “If you were under my command, you would know better than to defy your commander,” she smirked, eyes shut tight as her hips began to ride her touch.

“If I was under your command, I’m pretty sure we would both be dismissed for fucking each other every night, darling…”

Her belly swirled at that, at the mere mention of how much they indulged now, how she chase her blood lust away with more lust for him, at how very much she craved their connection, rekindling what once was and discovering what would come next. Side by side. “You wouldn’t have made it one day without coming in your leathers at the sight of me in my armor, and you know it,” she taunted, a dark desirous smirk in his lips.

“Likewise, my sweet…” exhausted, he did let his hand stray a single finger down her side, stroking up and down over her curves with barely the tickle of a feather in his dexterous touch. “There is little you do that doesn’t make me unspeakably aroused, my love, my darling, my betrothed,” he grinned as her eyes fluttered open at that last loving title.

“Gods, I’ve waited ages to hear you say that again. Lived different lifetimes, dulled blades and threw my armor into the sea just to hear it again,” she whispered. Her voice tinged with that mix of sadness and longing. Her hand stilling as she slowed touching herself.

“What was it like, your fearsome mantle of the Lady Corvus, Bone Picker?” He watched her body tense, withdrawing into memories, and for a moment he wished he had just bit his tongue. Perhaps it was too soon after the blinding bloodlust today. Perhaps it was the exact right time. He waited, nervously.

Until she gave a wistful smile. “Black and hard and sharp. Little feathers etched into the metal of my breastplate and gauntlets. Pointed spikes darted from the shoulders, like talons ready to tear the flesh of my foes. My blood-red cape would billow in the winds that carried the ash of my decimated enemies. My helm was small, enough to let my hair hang wild and free, a crown of spikes encircling my head… spikes of iron I once replaced with whitened bone, plucked from the battlefield myself.”

Astarion exhaled deeply, sensing her mix of longing and grief. “Sounds fearsome,” he whispered. His fingers traced lazy circles up her back. “Show me,” he ordered. A curious tilt to her head, and he just sucked his teeth. “Use the tadpole, darling. And don’t you stop touching your sweet little body. In fact…” His mouth brushed against her lips, her eyes fluttering shut, “those fingers can only touch where I tell you… where I will show you…”

“I thought you were too tired…” she pouted, whining right into his mouth. And he silenced her with a bite of his teeth on her lower lip.

“You’ll be doing all the hard work, darling. Come on,” he purred, “it’ll be fun.”

Oh, there it was, that taunting, “I dare you” tone that hadn’t left his voice since his youth.

She could feel his mind sticking a finger into her own, just that little wiggle for her to open wide.

Air smelled of smoke, trees burned to stumps, rocks slick with blood. Astarion looked down from this high point at the field that sprawled below his feet… bones and blood already the feast of carrion birds. But behind him on this rise, she waited nearer to the trees, the ones that still stood, that still carried some blood spattered living leaves yet.

Warm wind swept her scarlet cape, fluttering it to the side, and her arm cradled that spiked helmet in its crook.

Her face, gaunt and pale and blood spattered. More than he had even seen at her side now. A wraith of vengeance, a weapon herself, sharp and deadly.

But it was her eyes that locked into his. Even in this hellish dreamscape. They sparkled like the starlight, growing wetter and brighter as he crossed beside her. “This was me, my love, the monster… the terror… the fighter.”

From the distance, he heard that same chilling deep voice they had all silenced for good today. Ketheric’s taunt, his final words, still embedded deeply in his lover’s mind it seemed: “You think to scare me… the fabled Bone Picker… the warrior of her people. She is but a puny, pale vestige of what her own father wanted her to be. Why do you think you can finish what the great General Aquilae could not?”

Cordehlia’s voice had rung back harder than steel: “Because I’m so much more than what any Father could ever dream up for their child. As if you know anything about that… traitor… deceiver….” She raised her blade for a final swing. “Failure!”

The voices were swallowed by the sickening sound of blade and bone.

And Cordehlia could only stand there before Astarion, arms just beginning to reach for her lover. To beg him to come closer.

“Darling…” he whispered, brushing the knotted strands of her hair from her cheek and shoulder. “You don’t have to fight anymore, your father is avenged at last. Nor do you need to fight to forget me. I’m right here.”

Her breath caught in her throat, cheek rubbing tenderly into the cup of his palm. “It was more than fighting to avenge my father. It was also about you… not to merely forget you… I fought to… punish you… to make you pay for leaving me, to destroy the memory of what we were. What we could never be again.”

Her voice was a hammer that struck his chest woven with her heavy guilt. Astarion winced, facing down that void of their separation, his sins staring back in that darkness. And he sighed, “It was probably far less than I deserved, my love.”

“No,” she shook her head, armor rattling from the quick little shakes as she trembled. “No, you didn’t know, you couldn’t remember. Enslaved and compelled. Forced to obey and forget. Who you were to me was stripped from you… but I… stripped myself from my soul on purpose.”

Her hand flung that bone-horned helmet far away, its clattering the only sound around them. She watched it tumble over the rock and blood.

“Well,” Astarion’s voice was pressed, careful, “we may have both suffered, drowning in our own versions of darkness…” He paused, turning her face up towards his, waiting until those sad, silver eyes finally looked at him. “But now, neither of us is alone. And our darkness will not determine our fate, darling.”

Warm and wet, he could feel her tears on her skin, sliding down her cheek.

He could feel it on his real palm, all visions aside.

“Kiss me,” she sighed, angling closer to his mouth, eyes shut tight against the sights of battle around her.

“Yes, my lady…” he gave his sweet submission, a little tender breath from her lips as they brushed softly. “But let me take you somewhere else… let me… strip away the pain that comes from this time... this armor.”

“Please, Astarion,” she groaned. Her hands suddenly clung into the back of his shirt. The metallic scent of blood dissipated into fresh grass, the sounds of fire crackling becoming the trickle of a forest stream. She knew where she was before even glancing through her lashes.

One more lingering, slow working of her mouth on his, and she pulled away with a contented sigh. Elven trees and moss and moonlight.

The perfect remembrance of their home. Of their little spot of nowhere. Far away, and long ago.

“No more battlefield to torment you from your past. No more fighting alone. Now,” he held her by her jaw, raising her face into his, “now, we fight together.”

Her throat bobbed under his hold, another tear forming and flowing from the corner of her eye. Her hand raised to brush the tear away. “You don’t know what it means to me for you to…”

“Shhh,” he quieted her with a kiss, trapping her hand in his. A spike of mischief in his voice and a hint of command in his touch. “I thought we agreed, darling, you would only touch yourself where I say…”

Oh… she shivered. That grief suddenly ignited inside her core to something hotter and fiercer. No more longing or anger… only them. And their needs.

“I stripped away your battlefield…” he eased his grip, sliding back a single pace. “Now… allow me to relieve you of such armor, my lady, my love.” His hands skated down the exposed skin of her neck, lighter than breath. “Whatever this armor meant to you then, remember, everything is new again. You… me… we aren’t what we were.” His fingers slipped the buckles from her armor at her shoulders, barely touching her body. “We are better.”

Black metal fell harshly behind her, deadened by the moss at their feet.

Slow little strokes across that crook at the base of her throat, and he could feel her body melting under his touch in her mind. Her hands held fast against his back, edging him closer, longing to press her body firmly against him.

But he tutted his tongue. “Don’t touch me,” he taunted, shaking her hands away. “And remember, you’re the one meant to do the hard work, darling.”

He gripped her true hand from her belly, sliding it over her warm flesh to where his fingers danced over her skin in her mind.

“Let my hands be yours… and only do as I do, not one little pat or stroke more.” He growled as he caught her lips. “I’ll know if you disobey, pet.”

She arched under his fingers that traced under her neckline. Her neck craned into his touch. “You want some reward for being obedient, my love, won’t you? Still touching yourself like I asked?”

Her body shivered against him in his arms, just enough for him to feel it. But from his words or her own touch, he didn’t know.

Preferably both.

“Yes,” she moaned, drawing closer for more of his touch on his skin.

“Good girl,” he praised, feeling her shiver as another one... two pieces of jagged metal fell at their feet. “So fierce, so daunting…” he purred into her ear, tugging harder and faster through the latches of her breastplate.

“I became a lot of things to lose myself in my pain and anger…”

“Tch, you were always those things, my lovely Cordehlia. You still are, even stripped of this mantle…” He flung the metal from her upper body to the ground, letting it clatter obscenely loudly. And then, his fingers locked firmly around both her breasts, a low deep breath from his nose as he smirked down at her. “And don’t I just love you all the more for it.”

She raised on her toes for a kiss, but his hands were faster, holding her down by her shoulder, a chiding tut on his tongue. “Naughty,” he hissed and taunted. “You only touch where I show you. My hands are your hands, my pet. Nothing more, nothing less…”

She looked at him with those big, wet, silver pleading eyes. “But…”

“An excellent suggestion,” he smirked, giving his head a little nod, so pleased with himself. His hands ran down her back, caressing through the soft linen of her shirt, finally coming to rest along her rear. “Your perfect, rounded butt is still too covered.”

His hands traced around the crests of her hips, gripping into the buckle at her belly and yanking it open. There was so much to her, metal and layers, but he also couldn’t help but notice how with each little piece of her armor, her hardened shell of Lady Corvus that he pulled from her flesh, she looked younger. Happier.

Freer. Healed.

Her skin glowed, her lips smiled as she bit them sensually and slowly under his touch… her touch on her real body.

Whatever it was he was stripping her of, it was more than memory and metal. He searched her eyes for more, tried wriggling deeper into her mind for more, but she didn’t let him. She was too overwhelmed with the feeling of shedding that weight, of his hands on her skin, cold and dexterous.

Familiar.

He could feel her craving, how she was lost to the past, desiring nothing more than the future that once was. He knelt at her feet, pulling off the last metal braces from her shins. He pressed against the smooth leather that enshrouded her skin. He wanted nothing more than to tear it with his teeth. So he did. He nipped into her thigh, the salt of her breeches coated in sweat made him salivate. The little buck of her body to push closer into his mouth shook him out of his mind. He needed her. Need to have her see him, here and now, alive and loved in his arms.

Real flesh, he slid his real fingers where she caressed up her thighs. Where he had just been nipping in his dreams. A quick shuffle down her body, and he pierced the flesh of her bent leg, the tender skin of her thigh giving so easily. His mouth filled with pools of her blood. She cried, arching under him, unsure if she was dreaming or awake. Those silver eyes flew open, the tingle of their tadpoles releasing its hold.

Astarion only gave her a quick bloodied smirk before returning to have more of his fill. Her hand wove into his curls, as she always did. As she always had done.

But the way her pulse throbbed from that lower artery between his lips, she thrummed with life.

One last broad brush of his tongue over those wounds, as he crawled that chiseled body over hers again. “You are mine, Cordehlia, my raven, my love. And no armor will ever protect you better than I will.”

“Yours,” she sighed. “I feel lighter, empty of that weight.”

“Wouldn’t want you empty for long, darling. Need me to fill you with something instead of grief and anger?”

She buried her face beneath her arm for a moment, hiding that radiant smile, a moment just for her. A moment where she finally savored that weightlessness, that floating feeling he had given her as he stripped her from those memories. From the bile that had poisoned her all those many years ago. Of what she thought she knew from that time… from what she thought she… had known of him. And for a man who had starved, survived torture and assault and whoring himself out, now this man sucked the venom from her heart.

With a rogue’s dexterous touch, he had peeled off the painful layers that had built because of him, stripping her with his own two, living hands. He drew his fingers up her panting belly, his exhale deep as he stayed his hand to grip and knead her breast. Those eyes, fierce, possessive, drank in her every reaction. “Need something, Cordehlia?”

It was a simple question, but that purr in his voice, that heavy-lidded gaze that flitted over her neck, her lips, her breasts, it all spoke more than the simple words that he whispered.

“I need…” she whined, sliding her body to buck against him. Wanting nothing more than to be crushed and confined and caged by his body. “I need…” she panted. No words came to her tongue. So she thrust it into his mouth as it barely hovered over her own.

You. The rest of her words filled his thoughts. Even without the tadpole.

His hand cradling her neck, Astarion gave her everything, trying to fill that void he had seen, that agony he had witnessed with his own two eyes. The pain he wanted to carry for her, instead of her. He knew what it was to struggle under the weight of darkness and loss. He carried so many of his own burdens, but he would gladly take hers on too, if it meant she was lighter.

If it meant she was happy.

If it meant she was loved as she should have always been.

Gods, he groaned as he filled her again. It didn’t matter how many times they had done just that tonight… this week… it was never enough. He had centuries to make up for. His arms held on to her for dear life, wrapping around her shoulders, bracing his legs to keep her thighs wide. His to keep. His to protect.

Her body bent and pressed to mold to his throbbed with the feeling of him, of how he covered her every inch. With every thrust inside her, that chilling gnaw of her bloodied past receded, a flood that ebbed away. And all that was left was fertile ground for new things to grow.

[pursuitseternal]

“Coaxing:” update for “Our Blood is Thicker,” Astarion x Cordehlia 💞(f!Tav)

Astarion x Cordehlia (Tav) | E | 4.2K of romantic, smutty angst

Summary: Defeating the Orthon means Astarion gets the answer to his scar’s meaning, but thoughts of his lover’s mortality niggle harder than the worms in their brains… solutions hopefully present themselves, and soon.

CW: post-battle blood and bloodlust, manipulative devils, secret Profane Rites revealed, mortality angst, proposals (again… part 2)

Previous Ch | Ao3 link | masterlist

For @marimosalad and the brainworm we share 💞

Chapter 11: Coaxing

🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️

The air was still as Cordehlia opened her eyes. Not a bird chirp, not a soft rustle of breeze in the morning air or the caress of dew on the tent walls.

All was dead in these Shadow Cursed lands. But she never felt more alive. His hand already swept over her back, tender little strokes between her shoulder blades. His lips already smiled at her before her eyes even fluttered open. “Good morning, my love,” Astarion whispered, placing a slow and gentle kiss on her lips.

She slid herself closer, raising from where she was tucked into his side to lean across the spanse of his chest. “I love you,” she returned his little kiss with one of her own.

“I love you,” he breathed back into her lips. “And I hope you never tire of hearing that for the rest of your life, Cordehlia.”

“Never,” she cupped her hands on either side of his face. Her touch was warm, gentle, sending all the love in her heart straight into his own, undead as it may be. And his heart panged in dread.

She was worn out, right so, he laughed inwardly, watching her rest her sleepy head back on his shoulder, her eyes fluttering back shut. He had put her through her many, varied paces— and she, him.

He felt her living breath tickling over his skin, listened to every beat of that heart in her chest, calm. And alive. His gut twisted, and not in hunger. In fear. In horror. She would hear his words, feel his love for the rest of her life… but what then. What would be in store for him once she…

No, he stopped. He had to refrain from weighing the fact that outliving his mortal love would only be justice for leaving her long ago. Centuries damned to the same grief, the same loss. Only this time, she would be truly gone. And he would only have memories to comfort him.

The insides of his eyes stung, tears pricking them, tears he wished would disappear.

There had to be something he could do… for her if not for him.

To keep her with him. To bind her to his very being. To give himself to her until the sun itself melted.

He had failed her once, despite the haze over those memories… This time, he would never leave her. There had to be a way. No matter the cost.

“What’s the matter?” she murmured against his chest. “I can feel your tension, Astarion.”

“What happens when I lose you, darling…” He lets the question hang in the air. She lets it too, her arms gripping tighter around his middle, letting the gravity and grief of his words settle into her own bones.

“You won’t,” she whispered, turning her head to face him. There was an edge to her gaze, a sharpness of determination. Exacting. Fearsome. Astarion loved it. A glimmer of his Corvus, he suspected.

“My little raven is going to keep even the enemy of death at bay?” he crooned, caressing her cheek, his pride and arousal at those two intimidating words passing through his touch.

Something at the corners of her eyes hardened, something behind her eyes brightened as her breath grew heavier. “Not even death will keep me from you again, now that I’ve found you once more… now that you… love me again.”

Those last words, they were honey on her lips, nectar of the gods. He couldn’t help but press his mouth to her, hungry to suck that sweetness right off them. Noise crescendoed from outside his tent, clattering pans, muted voices—the others waking.

But ahe was in his arms, and they were already roused from sleep and aroused beyond fear. And he would not wait until night once more to feed on her or reward her for that ferocity and possessiveness once more.

That day, his thoughts of dreading her death hung close to his consciousness. Every trial, every fight, he remained at her side, close enough to guard her back and heal her the moment an arrow so much as grazed her tender flesh.

Blood soaked, gore dripping from their armor and pooling at their feel, they finally took stock of their last battle.

Exacting that demand from the devil. His enemy, the Orthon, lay dead on the floor. And every one of her party panted, drained of energy but elated all the same.

It had been grueling, but they survived. He looked at her beside him. They had all survived.

Astarion prodded his red-skin corpse with the toe of his boot. “One payment exchanged for dark knowledge about what that bastard did to my back,” he turned to Cordehlia, her boots deep in muddy viscera. Her eyes searching his face for her hard-earned reward. “Thank you,” he purred, pulling her flush against his body by the curve of her ass.

“Don’t thank us yet,” Wyll shook his head, cleaning his own blade. “Wait and see if the devil holds up his end of the bargain.” He snorted, both eyes narrowed as he looked up at them. “It’ll be a cold day in Avernus if he tells you everything you need to know. Weigh Raphael’s words carefully, elves, or you might end up selling more than your souls…” he stood from his crouching. “…Please, we all love a good romance. Don’t sour it with greed or by being unwary.”

“When have I ever been selfish, Wyll?” Astairon put on that perfectly innocent expression, hand splayed on his chest, brows raised high above his wet, wide eyes.

No one replied, not with words. A chorus of disgruntled groans just fill the dank cavern as they leave. Astarion just clung to Cordehlia’s waist, savoring the say her armored body clashed against his own. “Darling, was it something I said?”

“No, of course not,” she smirked, her voice rife with sarcasm, though she knew it was what he sought.

“Camp has never sounded so good. I’m thoroughly exhausted, my love,” he leaned in to whisper the next bit for her pointed ears alone, “but fret not, I still have enough energy remaining to… celebrate our victory just the two of us.”

“Hmmm,” she purred in reply, easing herself from the way he gripped her tighter. “Let’s see if or when Raphael should reappear. Gods forbid he catches us with our pants down again…”

“I’m sure it would be quite educational for anybody, even a devil…” his laugh tickled her ear, his gauntleted hand raising to smack her backside once made her armor clang.

“I heard that!” Gale called from just in front of them. He didn’t even need to turn around for them to hear his eyes roll.

“I should hope everyone heard that,” the vampire gloated in reply. “You’ll hear a lot more…”

Another chorus of groans deafened the rest of his provocative discussion.

“They’re worse than newlyweds on their honeymoon,” Wyll whispered to their Druid.

Halsin chuckled back, “They’re worse than displacer beasts during mating season.”

“You’re hopeless,” Cordehlia chided, letting herself be caressed and pulled hard against his side regardlessly.

“Actually, for once, I have hope,” Astarion spoke, softer, more assured. Genuine. “And it’s thanks to you, my lovely Cordehlia.”

She froze in her tracks, looking into those sharp lines of his face to see them soft, wide and sincere. All her words dried on her lips, his mouth twitched, the same for him. Her chest felt tight, her stomach fluttering. And all she could do was smile like a fool.

A fool in love.

It was late, and the two elves had sworn, on both sets of pointed ears, they would keep watch in the dark for their fiendish friend… waiting for Raphael to hold his end of their bargain. And while no one believed they wouldn’t be openly rutting while they waited, the rest of the party was too exhausted to truly care what happened between them once their eyes were shut.

The fire crackled, and Cordehlia made certain they were, in fact, not caught with their pants down. Not for a lack of effort and zeal on her vampire’s behalf. But she resisted all his flirtatious attempts, pulling her into his lap to feel just how hard he was for her, breathing on the back of her neck… all in vain for now. He put on a smile, keeping his hands mostly to himself, even if she could see the pronounced bulge through his leathers. But something kept her keen, watchful. Almost as if she could smell the sulfur gathering, the pinpricks of eyes watching from the shadows.

As if the devil was waiting… hoping for more of a show once again. But their love was too precious to be put on display like that. Not for him. No matter how helpful the devil seemed to be.

Finally, once she leaned into Astarion’s shoulder, letting his arm wrap tightly around her, his skilled fingers slowly starting to caress one breast in his palm…. she heard a single footfall close by.

“I was thinking you two would be… vigorously celebrating the Orthon’s defeat by now. I was so hoping to interrupt,” that velvet baritone rippled from over their shoulders.

Astarion stood first, confident and ready to accept his reward. “We have upheld our end of the bargain, devil,” he smirked slightly. Crossed arms and spread legs making him seem all the more confident.

“And I shall uphold mine, little vampling, for those scars on your back tell such a delicious tale of woe, of the lure of power, and the betrayal of… well,” Raphael paused, those hard ridges of his face twisting even more devilishly. “Perhaps I get ahead of myself, it is rather a grim tale. But one that most assuredly defines your destiny.”

The way his eyes shot between them both gave Cordehlia pause. Something was here, something more than just a story or an answer. Something that could bring about both their destinies. “Tell us,” she chimed in, commanding and exacting as ever. “Why Infernal runes for scars? What business does Cazador have with the hells?”

“Oh, it’s more than business, my Lady Corvus, it is a total shift in allegiances and alliances to dominate Faerûn forever. Cazador Szarr is not the only powerful force in Baldur’s Gate, and those scars on your lover’s ivory skin are the last remaining key to unlocking total domination over the undead in this realm….” The devil paused, watching.

Cordehlia caught her love’s face from the corner of her eye, catching his hand in hers. He felt tight, wound like a trap ready to spring. His ears twitched at the sound of power, body rigid to hear it would be his master’s. “Go on, Raphael,” she smiled, “we have little time for half tales and riddles.”

“Then I’ll tell you all, out of my devotion to you, my lovely lady, all about the Rite of Profane Ascension. Long ago, Cazador Szarr made a deal with the archdevil Mephistopheles to gain unlimited power for his kind. All of his spawn and a handful of other souls to be sacrificed in exchange for the rite so deliciously diabolical, so overflowing with an influx of total, dominating power, no Vampire in the world could resist the temptation to take it for themselves.”

She could feel it, the clutch of his hand on hers even tighter, the pull of his own desire, as if his mouth watered to hear the promise of all that power.

“As Vampire Ascendant, all of man’s desires and appetites will be restored. His reflection, his beating heart will be his again. What’s more, he won’t need a tadpole in his skull to walk in the sun, and…” Raphael paused. He changed his stance to one much more… friendly. Familiar. His hands clasped before him, his shoulders bending towards them both. “Should Cazador Szarr gain all this power, he would not make a good ally against the Absolute, against Ketheric or the other conspirators that seek to dominate souls in this world….”

“And this poses a problem for you in your quaint little circle of hell, does it not, Raphael….” Astarion’s interjection, so perceptive and sharp, caught even the devil before them off guard. “That’s why you sought us out from the beginning, isn’t it? Not to heal our tadpoles or take our souls, or to even offer your hollow praise to my beloved?”

Astarion paused, letting go of her hand, striding a step forward with total confidence. A sway, a swagger as he closed the distance on Raphael. “You need me to stop him…” he grinned wickedly, “for your own benefit as much as mine, as much as Cordehlia’s.”

Raphael merely shrugged. “Whatever happens, happens my friends. I just know that by potentially helping you, I may have given aide to the next most powerful Vampire in the realms… all that power, and no one to take it seems like an awful waste…”

The devil’s smile only widened as his eyes fell on Cordehlia. “And, I hear that lovers don’t last when one is undying and the other… well,” he shrugged again. “Just think of all the possibilities a Vampire Lord possesses for… creation, if you catch my meaning.”

It was a stake in his ribs, the tantalizing incentive to make her… his. Forever. The thought stuck, sharp and lodged in his brain like a thorn in his thoughts, his lips pursed silent as the devil finally dispersed.

He was silent as she pulled him into the darkness of his tent. Their tent. And even as she lifted her own tunic, baring her whole body for him, even as her hands began to tug his off that ruinously handsome frame, he just watched with sharp eyes. Quiet but for a few little noises of approval. Cordehlia squinted, stopping for the moment.”What are your thoughts, Astarion? It’s not like you to be so silent for so long.”

His head hung, watching her hands settle his shirt back down. And even that made his stomach twist into unending knots. “It’s… a tantalizing offer, my love.” He finally commented, forcing his voice full of its usual satin.

“It’s not even half of what you deserve, you know…” she whispered. As if she feared the power of her words. “Though… a handful of souls to be sacrifice does seem vague. As long as yours isn’t one of them.”

“Hmmm,” he paused. “It will take some planning, and chaos… and luck.” He grinned at her, eyes scanning the way she sat on her knees, breasts pert and pink and just waiting for him. It made him lick his lips, the words of her approval sinking deeper than his bones. “And most importantly, it will take you by my side.”

She smiled just slightly, brows furrowed in deep thought, and then she opened her mouth. “What did he mean by a vampire lord’s powers of creation?” she asked, hesitant and unsure for once.

Astarion forced himself not to look away, not to look down at the body he worshiped more than any gods. Forcing himself to only gaze straight ahead in those bright silver eyes. Uncertainty stung in his gut at how she might accept such knowledge. “Vampire Lords have the powers to turn the living into the undead. Spawn are made to be slaves, obedient servants in every sense, compelled to follow the slightest whim,” his words sounded from between grit teeth. His own burden and suffering imbued in his tone.

She said nothing, only resting the warm, supple palm of her hand on his bent knee. A small gesture, but one that eased the suffering instantly piqued.

He breathed before continuing. “Vampire Lords can also create other vampires, draining the living of all their blood and then bestowing their own in return. The effect is to create a full-blooded, equally powerful, potentially threatening creature just like themselves. But…” he paused, frozen by her searching gaze. His swallow gagged him. His hand less than steady as he let one of his rest atop where she still touched him. “There is a third creation, equally connected to their maker as if they were a spawn, equally powerful and free as if they were a Vampire Lord or Mistress in their own right.”

Cordehlia shivered, and not from the cold. This seemed so familiar, the way he said so much and yet nothing important. Or at least not the most important parts. The way he had once danced around asking for her hand, her own youth and innocence too sweet to know just what desires ran under his always-pale skin. His veiled questions… his obtuse flirtations… she had no clue what he had intended for her long ago truly until he finally accompanied her down to the stream that day, saying she would be his, one way or another… Until he feigned returning back home, only to be caught watching her down by the river…

When he first sought to make her his bride.

That word stuck in her brain, striking some long forgotten knowledge of vampiric creatures…

“You speak of the Bride,” she breathed.

One brow twitched as it arched, his lips turning softly. Wistfully. “What if… what if I am able to amend my past transgressions? What if…”

Her hand raised, fingers pressing against his moving lips so quickly. “Don’t say it unless you mean it, Astarion,” she whimpered, voice catching in her throat. All the sharpness of a sob beginning. “I won’t survive again if…”

“I do mean it,” he said, mouth moving fast, but his arms moved faster. He was always faster with his body, his words, his thoughts always playing catch-up. He pulled her flush against his body, laying her down on the mess of pillows and blankets beneath them. His poor excuse for a bed. He said nothing more, letting the warmth of her figure flood into him, seeping through the linen of his ruffled shirt and the supple leather of his trousers. “I mean it, Cordehlia Aquilae, my future… bride.”

But she kept still against his side, her face turned to bury into that valley of his chest and stomach. It was only once her tears had pooled in his center did he even realize she was crying. Her hand fisted against her face, hiding her eyes as she finally took a shaking inhale.

“Oh shit,” he held his own breath. “Did I do something wrong? Say something wrong?”

“No,” she instantly turned that tear-streaked face towards him. Her pale skin mottled from crying, even her silver eyes peered through the gathering puffiness. “I’ve… been longing for this for so long. It, it just must be too good to be true.”

“I’m not leaving you this time,” he rasped, trying hard to reassure her with little caresses of his hand in her hair, coaxing her further. Coaxing her closer. “You said… I’ve seen… in the past, my ambitions stole me away.”

She nodded, swallowing so hard, he could feel it against his stomach.

“This time, my darling Cordehlia, I’m taking you with me,” he purred, stroking a single finger under her quivering chin. Beckoning her to his smirking mouth. “Now… I think I’d like to take you now, too. As if you could lie that perfect body against me, expecting me to resist the temptation.” He shook his head as she slid over him. “Tch,” he purred deeper again, crooking a finger in her face to beckon her all the more. “Come here, and don’t make me coax you more, my sweet… my betrothed.”

She shuddered and thrilled, splaying her legs around his hips, letting the smoothness of his leathers slip beneath her folds. “Always so quick to forget your manners, not that you were ever fluent in using it in your vocabulary,” she chided, taking a moment to wipe her last tears with her shoulder.

“What are you going to do, train my tongue to be more endearing, more polite?”

“There are so many ways to coax out a please from your spoiled lips, Ancunìn,” she grinned, feeling that growing swell in his lap hardening.

“And it seems like we will have all of eternity to make me practice my tongue to your heart’s content,” he purred, leaning closer as she braced her arms about his neck. “Won’t you kiss me, after all…” he gave her a piercing, rakish grin, and Cordehlia doubted he would know it was the same that made her stomach flutter for years, for lifetimes. “…you are my intended, my betrothed.”

“And you are mine.” She felt a surge inside her, something fierce, something dark swirling from days of old. A need to protect. To fight for him. Or because of him. “Cazador will die,” she hissed, “All nine hells will freeze over before we let your old master claim any of that power… I won’t allow it, nor will you, my love.”

“Oh, I love when you snap your razor sharp beak, my little raven…” he crooned, hands sweeping down her sides to hook into the bend of her knees. He pulled her hard, clutching her hard as he thrust up into her. “But enough about him…. I’d rather make you spout such sweet little noises, make you cry my name from your lips…”

One hand splayed on his chest, the other gripped his from her leg to guide it, to coax it into the peak of her folds. “If you wish,” she simpered in reply. “I have many an idea of just how you could do that…”

He tilted his head, those silver locks of his shifting ever so slightly. “Well, darling, I’m all pointy ears to hear them…”

A sliver of their past sliced through her memories… “I want you to make me yours.”

“You already are, my love,” he arches a single brow, confusion wrapped tightly in intrigue and burning arousal.

“I’ve always been yours… but never your own, never forever,” she paused, biting her lip in her hesitation.

“That will all change once we rid ourselves of all this,” he pointed behind his back, splayed on the ground as he was. “But do no doubt for a moment that all of this is mine…” He brushed his touch under her chin, racing his touch down to sweep over her breasts, clutching one in his fingers to kneed it gently. His other hand slipped beneath her wet folds, letting the backs of his fingers graze into her as he tugs loose his breeches’ buttons. She shifted just enough to let him out, to flatten his cock fully into her cunt as she glided over its silken hard length. “And this,” he groaned, matching the buck of her hips just perfectly in time to sheathe himself inside her clenching heat, “this is yours… only yours. Whether you’re my bride yet or not, my darling, I’ll have none but you.”

The way her whole body shook on him, around him, it almost undid him right then and there. Her mouth hung slack, her body dipping down to cover him as she bucked and canted her hips. “Say it again… how I’m yours,” she moaned, the red of her hair falling over her shoulders, “how you’ll make me yours forever.”

“You will be mine…” he growled, one hand pulling at the back of her neck to bring her panting lips against his own. “Your delicious mouth, so eager to please, will be mine…” his hand slid to her cheek, sticking his thumb between her slack lips as he hooked it and tugged it against his own. He bit into her lips, just enough of his fang piercing her flesh to bring blood to their mouths.

Her own hunger flared, matching his kiss suck for suck and lick for lick. Hand clutched at the back of her head, he gripped her harshly, pulling her back and dragging his damp fangs over her neck. “This is mine, your blood will always be mine,” he growled, running his tongue over the scars and lingering wounds from his near constant indulgence of her blood.

“Bite,” she sighed, a slight drag of her hips over his length. “Tell me how I taste,” an order, sweetened in the thick tone of her voice.

He waited for no further invitation, sinking in his teeth in time with a buck of hips to sink himself deeper into her arousal.

Both drew a delicious groan from that throat between his lips as he sucked his fill. “Rich, powerful…” he mumbled between swallows of her essence. He could feel her swallow as he did, hear her breathing grow ragged as he feasted on that blood. A swirl of his tongue, he purred again, “Addictive, nourishing…”

That got her going, her hips driving against him blood from her neck dripping on the cream of his shirt. But even that couldn’t rile him. Fingers wound around both breasts, letting his nails drag into their swaying fullness. Making a little whimper of pain-laced pleasure spill from her lips. “All of you, Cordehlia, will be mine.”

Shattering, spasming, she crumpled into his chest, head braced against his own. Every muscle in her sculpted body gripped him, holding him tightly.

Never to lose him again.

Not like last time….

[pursuitseternal]

“Loathing:” Chapter 2 to the ETL Astarion X Tav fic “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x F!Tav (OC) | E | 6k of angst / longing

Summary: He is darker, different, and for Cordehlia he is a constant reminder of what was. As their journey continues, truths come to light in the dark, and blood will be shed. Willingly and unwillingly.

Stargazing scene, Bite Scene, finding the Gur hunter

CW: blood, biting, jealousy and angst, manipulation and memories, slow burn feelings (that Astarion is bad with), bloodlust and regular lust, OC gets defensive of her newly found again love/hate interest

Previous Chapter | Read on AO3 | Master List

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Restless. The night was restless. Well, not wholly. She did meditate deeply, enough to regain her strength, to rest her mind. But, as always, it was the dreams, plaguing her mind. For Cordehlia, it was probably more rife with ghosts than usual.

Every night is restless when you hear the echoes of battle and nurse the wounds of your heart.

All night, all she could feel was the cold, all she could see was crimson eyes and toothsome smiles. Her ears were filled with his voice, muffled, muted. He had whispered in her mind all night, words she remembered him offering her ages long ago… sweet, words like nectar, lapping at her wounded heart, promising himself to her, hers forever, until they found one another again in their next life… words that purred of her beauty, poetry that likened her hair as brighter than the flames, her eyes more captivating than the stars, her sex sweeter than honey from the comb…

That was when her eyes had flashed opened at last, waking to the grey light of dawn and a dying fire in the camp. Waking to find herself the first one stirring.

Nearly.

Except for him… where he perched outside his tent, looking over the pages of a book. His bright eyes ringed in shadows, as he stared at her, watching her eyes open, her body stretching and shifting.

His lip twitched slightly, a knowing smile as their eyes locked. Did he know how restless he made her… did he know how real her dreams were…

That’s when he stood. So graceful, so balanced. A true fighter, a true rogue. And, by the hells, so beautiful in the dawn. It was what he was made for, she always thought, to shine like the stars that still break the morning light. But that hardness still stiffened his face, his eyes still exacting and harsh. For a moment, Cordehlia thought he would approach, thought he would saunter over and wish her a good morning… but he stalked away to the treeline, the noises of the other companions catching her ear as they also woke in the dawn.

They each began to rise, the Wizard grabbing some of the goods collected, making a rough breakfast for everyone. He grunted as he lifted the pot to hang over the fire Karlach had stoked back up.

The backache of sleeping on the ground was nothing unfamiliar to Cordehlia, but still… unpleasant. She huffed as she stood, and while her body moved towards the rest of the group, her eyes kept scanning for Astarion.

Always in her thoughts, even when she wanted him out.

She sighed, folding her arms and nodding as Gale spoke about the Emerald Grove, a good next place to seek out cures and allies perhaps.

As the meager porridge was ladled into the various, mismatched bowls that made up the camp’s dishes, she couldn’t help but notice that he had not returned. Even for food.

“Looking for your old friend?” Gale asked, his voice quiet and soft as he sat next to her by the fire.

“He’s no friend,” she commented, blowing the steam from her food before trying it.

“He needs to be one now,” he replied, doing the same over his breakfast. “I suspect there is more to him than he wishes anyone to know, maybe even especially you, given your… history.”

She swallowed loudly, trying to lose herself in the pain of the hot food down her gullet than the ache in her heart that came from such matters. “History is often rife with pain and loss, Wizard,” she hissed. “I should know, I’ve lived centuries watching it… committing it.” She felt his eyes focus on the side of her face, but she would not give an inch as she spoke. “The long memory of the elves is their greatest joy and their deepest sorrow, Gale.”

“Mortals may not know hundreds of years at a time, but I do know of joy and sorrow too, my friend,” he whispered. “And if we have any hope of finding a cure, a way forward, we need him.”

A heavy sigh came from her little frame. “I know,” she muttered.

“And maybe, just maybe, you will find your way back to one another. Don’t you elves feel yourselves bound by blood?”

“Pfft, hardly,” she scoffed, turning an amused if skeptical glance at the mortal. “At least not with him.” She looked away quickly, hoping it was fast enough not to show the pricking tear in her eye. “That connection forged when we trothed beneath the stars was severed centuries ago.” Another sigh, so heavy her shoulders drooped. “Washed away by grief and spite like the rain waters.”

“Hmm,” Gale gave a considerate pause. Thinking. The man was always thinking. “It is a phrase humans have, that blood is thicker than water, not sure you’ve heard that one.”

Cordehlia arched one brow. “At my age, I’ve heard it all.” A wry smile teased at her lips at last. “But I appreciate the timely, apropos application, dear Wizard.”

“Happy to be of service, my lady,” he bowed his head.

But the She-elf instantly bristled.

“O-oh…” Gale sputtered. “I meant no disrespect, I…”

“Just… Cordehlia,” she muttered back. “No titles, no accolades. You can just use my name.” Her voice was flat, her muscles clenched, even as she smiled.

“It’s a beautiful name,” Gale nodded, eyes wide and soft. Relieved.

“Yes…” a voice chimed in from behind them both, where they sat side by side. “I thought so too, once it came creeping back to my memory.”

Astarion.

He perched behind, grinning that knowing, half-twisted smile as they both spun their heads. “At least… I’ll always be your first, darling,” he purred.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, just a twitch. Enough of a tell to goad him on, she realized.

“The first to know your true name, that is…” he added, sweeping down to sit beside the She-elf in that fluid and elegant motion of his.

“Knowing one’s name is not the same as knowledge of the person,” Cordehlia snapped, her hackles raised as Astarion reached across her lap to help himself to the bowl of piping hot porridge she had set down the second he appeared.

“Smells atrocious, Gale…” he raised the spoon, sticking out his tongue to give the tan gloop a lick, one far too sensual for its own good. “Tastes horrible,” he added before setting it back down. “Couldn't you have magicked something better?”

Gale just stared back, wry and disbelieving at his arrogance. “You’re welcome to try your luck at cooking for the camp next time, Astarion.”

“And possibly singe these perfect hands? Get food under my nails?” He gagged as he finished his whining. “I’d rather eat something raw…”

Something about the way he replied made Cordehlia stare at him just a little harder. His lip turned at the corner of his mouth. As if he thought himself terribly witty. The same glint shined in his eyes, a sparkle of mischief and self-indulgent humor. Just like it always had when he was up to something.

“Well,” Gale stood, clearly done with the Elf’s presence. “Since I’ve had my fill, I think I’ll get my things ready for our journey. Emerald Grove isn’t going to explore itself for a cure, you know.”

She could feel his look still on her as the wizard stood, trying to read her inscrutable expression. With a sigh, he relented trying to puzzle out his companion and left.

“Good riddance,” Astarion hummed, sliding his lithe body just a hint closer to where she still sat. “Let’s hope he’s better at magic than his cooking, my dear.”

“Would it kill you to try to be kind, Astarion?” She snapped, turning her head to face him at last.

“I am being kind,” he crooned, leaning just a bit closer, “you tasted that gruel, I could have said so many more dreadful things, you know.”

She snorted, her own dark humor tickled as he elbowed her in the arm. And even as he smiled back with those strange, red eyes squinting at her, it was the same shine, the same glint and the same creases that had always warmed her heart.

Dammit.

Then, his hand came to rest atop of hers. Where she had it splayed into the dirt beside her.

Just like he always used to.

For a second she closed her eyes, the shine of those happy days giving the chill in her heart a warmth of happiness. Of connectedness.

But it was a lie.

At least something was a lie, she realized as she ripped her hand out from the heavy, cold weight of his touch.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He hummed, “I thought you were all for getting to know one another again.”

Her voice was direct, steady and calm. “Then you can start by telling me the truth of what happened, when you’re ready of course. Until then,” she stood, brushing the pine needles from her breeches. “Until then, you’ll excuse me if I bide my time trusting you with more than watching my back in battle.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, politely, but through gritted teeth.

“And I hope, personally, our next adventure leads us to looting a pair of gloves for you, if you’re going to insist on touching me. Hells below, Astarion, the chill of ice seems to always be on your hands.”

“A wise idea,” he smirked slightly. Darkly. “Such insight for a seasoned fighter such as yourself.”

Cordehlia shook her head, leaving him at her feet. Feeling his gaze on her as she moved quickly away.

That gaze stayed on her all day. She could feel it. Observing. Assessing. Scanning her strengths and weaknesses. Gleaning details of how she fought, how she persuaded aid from any strangers they met, how she could leap and tumble and sneak with an ease remarkable even for her kind.

He followed in her wake all day, covering her back in battle just as she had asked.

And she knew it was his intention. The little ways he caught her eye during their fights, nodding as he removed obstacles behind them… ahead of them… dealing the heaviest, most damaging blows of any of their party.

If he was one of her men, she would have promoted him. Would have gone weak in the knees at his prowess. Gifted him with all her favors at his brutality, his vigor.

But he was not hers to command.

He was not hers… at all.

Her mind swirled with such memories and dreams, fighting to keep the most lustfilled ones as far from her mind as possible.

Which was only harder and harder to do as they all prepared the camp at nightfall again. Especially when she stumbled on him near his tent, lounging back on a bedroll, gazing with such wonder at the burst of stars that speckled the sky.

Cordehlia tiptoed closer, drawn by his relaxation. Remembering so many nights of doing the same, together.

“Coming to join me?” he purred, just a glance of his eyes to where she stood before they trained back into the heavens.

“I…” she began, but the way he scooted himself to make room on the leather and blankets, it was just… too much to resist.

Gods help me, she prayed. Nestling down alongside him, not so close they touched. But still too close for her to ignore that scent that clung around him now. Sharp and aromatic. Citrus and herbs.

Swallowing, she dismissed how it made her mouth water.

“Glad to see you come to your senses, darling,” he spoke just loud enough for her to hear without straining.

“You looked comfortable,” she offered as a reply. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You do more than just disturb me,” he sneered. “I have never felt more… unsettled. Confused. I have never felt freer, unchained from my enslavement, and yet…” he rolled on his side, narrowing his gaze at where she laid beside him. Her silver eyes like stars themselves as she stared into the lights above. Those heavenly mirrors her brightness. “What I… suffered… it made it impossible to remember things… about me from before. I have endured horrors. Torture. Centuries of darkest anguish. It was simply easier to find peace in feeling numb than clinging to… anything from before.”

He meant her. Easier than remembering her.

He scoffed softly, watching as she just kept her eyes above. But he could feel her breath burning in her lungs as she held it. Frightened to hear what more he might say. Frightened to scare him away.

“I would hate for us to part ways so soon, you know. Once we find the next… solution… to our parasite friends, will this all be over? Is this it?”

She breathed at last. “It doesn’t have to be, I suppose,” her voice was shaking. Gentle.

“Good,” he smirked before reaching to brush a single strand of her fiery red hair off her cheek. “Because you are quite the ally, quite the commander. You’ve survived so much, just like me, traversing Avernus, surviving the crash, surviving everything that has followed.”

His fingers brushed her cheek one more time, making her turn to finally meet his suggestive stare. And then he smiled, that half smirk that just pulled his face a little sharper, that made his eyes glow and glint with the passion inside him. “You are quite impressive too, you know…” he murmured as they locked eyes.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her belly rising and falling beneath her resting hands just a bit quicker. “You’re assuming I think you’re impressive as well, Astarion…”

“I have no need to assume, darling. I know,” he preened, that arrogance coloring his words, making them drip with pride. With seduction. “I know I’m impressive. And I know you already think it, darling. No one smiles that much in battle when your eyes lock into mine. No one’s heart beats so quickly at the slightest touch of my fingers over their skin if they don’t think I’m at least a tinge… impressive.”

And just to prove his point, he reached for her neck, ghosting his fingertips over it, her pulse pounding in her veins so hard, it must deafen her.

Her brow raised slightly, eyes sharp as she scanned his face. “You’re staring,” she murmured.

“Of course I am,” he eased into a smile. “Why wouldn’t I?” He stood to his feet gracefully and quickly. “But after gazing at such beauty, I think I’ll get some air, clear my head so as not to forget completely about the horrible parasite that swims in my mind.” He waved his long, elegant fingers at her where she still laid at his feet. “I’ll see you later I’m sure…”

“I’m sure,” she called after him, still staring into the sky, refusing to watch him tread into the forest. But she couldn’t help but add a little something more. Something sharper than those soft words he tried to whisper into her ear. “You look horrible, Astarion, don’t miss dinner later. You look like you need a good meal and a good rest.”

He stopped in his tracks, glancing over his broad and sloping shoulder. “Maybe I do…” he seemed to bristle as she refused to look at him. “Thank you for being so observant, my friend,” he chimed, if a bit sarcastically.

“Here to help,” she turned at last.

“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, darling,” he flashed her the fullness of his smirk, his canted brows and shining eyes.

She shrugged, a muted smile in return. “Thank you,” she added just before he began to turn. “For telling me a bit more of… what happened. I can see the pain when you speak of it, but I do not want you to think me.. ungrateful for the truth.”

He nodded his head, just once, before turning on his heel and heading for the trees.

Dinner came and went. Conversation turned unavoidably towards the fact that the mercurial rogue of the group still hadn’t returned.

Shadowheart laughed. “Well, didn’t he say he would rather eat something raw than suffer Gale’s cooking once more?” She sniffed a laugh through her little nose. “I wouldn’t put it past him with just how… vicious… he seems…”

Karlach gave her burst of a belly laugh in reply. “Sounds like someone has taken a fancy to the pale pretty boy!”

Gale’s eyes widened, his head snapping to check on Cordehlia. Her face was gaunt, even as she gave a laugh and made her full, pink lips smile. “You know,” he cleared his throat, “our leader, Cordehlia has a history with the Elf, isn’t that right?”

“Ancient history,” she added, a musical tone in her voice. One that seemed unnatural and forced. “But that is most of how time is measured for the Elves…”

“Oh,” Shadowheart stopped her mirth for a moment, “I am sorry. I didn’t know…”

“It is no matter,” the She-elf shook her head, the picture of reassurance.

Someone settled down in the circle of light. Tossing his silver hair, Astarion looked so very pleased with himself, sitting himself right between the cleric and Cordehlia, throwing them each a glance that bled conceit and oozed flirtation. “Don’t you worry,” he leaned back on his hand, lounging as if all eyes weren’t staring at him… amused, or jealous, or irritated, “I am a man of tremendous appetites. There’s enough of me to go around…”

The wizard gave an uncomfortable cough, as if he cleared his throat. “Umm, well, I’m turning in for the night,” Gale stood, dumping out the rest of his stew into the fire before leaving. But not without a concerned glance at the She-elf… not before he watched her face stiffen with all due stoicism, her eyelids fluttering rapidly as if she wasn’t thinking about reaching for her weapon to inflict some equal pain.

He sniffed, angrily… dismissively… before he left.

“I’m turning in too,” the She-elf followed the same procedure, remnants of her meal on the fire before she retreated to her bedroll nearby.

She tried not to look behind her.. tried to ignore the way he looked at her. The way that cleric seemed to give him a flirtatious if taunting smile. Dismissing the knots in her stomach and the enraged rapping of her pulse.

Second time today he made her heart feel like it would burst. And not for the same cause.

He was aggravating. Unbearable. So soft and yet provoking. Making her angry and aroused all at once. Perhaps that was the same as before between them. But that darkness, that delight he seemed to get from making her suffer, that twisted joy from forcing her feelings to ebb and flow at his will… it made every hair on her head tingle with suspicion, with dread. A reminder he was not as he always was.

She grit her teeth, trying to keep her mouth soft and her eyes open, even as all she wanted to do was scream and shove them both face first in the dirt. That lascivious rake of an elf and that powerful, if vapid, cleric.

But her body relented, drawn by the comfort of her bedroll. Maybe a little extra rest would help calm this bile that rose in her throat, she thought. Tucked int, she tried to chase away the memories of the past, turning over all the hints and clues to cures that came up over these last days.

At last, once all she could hear was the hiss and pop of the fire, her mind drifted away, thinking of the stars… of how they shined like his eyes once did… deep violet like the night, those gold and silver flecks in them like the lights themselves….

It made her hand search for a little something she had stowed away under her sheets.

As her fingers wrapped around her weapon, she breathed easier. Rest finally taking her under. Letting her soar. Until… something broke into her peace, a shadow that blocked the starlight.

And that’s when she woke.

His mouth hung above her, bearing down on her with fangs glinting in the fire. The second she stirred, he froze. Caught.

“Shit,” he hissed, he kept his arms framed over her head, his body still dangerously close. “Well, I was sure you’d figure out the truth sooner or later…” he purred, rubbing the tip of his tongue over his fang points.

That’s when he noticed something prodding into his ribs. The point of a stake in her hand, she smiled brightly up at him. “Sooner was the safer bet, old friend. Vampire. You never were skilled at being subtle… or planning ahead.”

“Or keeping your hands off pointy sticks,” he chuckled, grabbing her hand where she fisted the stake. “You’re more insightful than I gave you credit for, and I already admire you a lot, darling…”

“Oh please, it doesn’t take centuries of a life and years of battle to piece out your mysterious disappearance or why your eyes are crimson…why you’re colder than death or why you have yet to sit and eat a full meal with the rest of us.”

“Beautiful and brilliant,” he purred, still unrelenting as he caged her body. “It’s not what you think, however. I’m not a monster. I only feed on animals, boars and the like… but with all this fighting you've made me do, I’m just too slow… too weak. I haven’t been able to catch a decent meal for days because of how much you’ve pushed me.”

He was pouting. Eyes wide and wet, the perfect image of pleading innocence.

“Since it’s your demanding nature that has made me so hungry, I thought it only fair to come to you for a… solution. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer… fight better…”

“So you decide to lay the blame at my feet? To creep into my bed, deciding that I will just say yes to you because of our history?” Her eyes are wide and shining. Bright with rage. “You promise to make the effort to get to know one another as we are… you make absolute certain I find your every attack, every parry in battle utterly perfect… you touch me… flirting… then trying unsuccessfully to turn me green with envy by casting your attentions on the cleric…”

She snapped the last word, making him flash those fangs at her again.

“Well…” he breathed, “can you blame me? You are being rather stubborn… as you always have been, darling Cordehlia…”

Her hand struggled against his grip on her weapon, fighting as he pried it from her fingers, tossing it into the fire with a hiss of flame. Her breathing grew rough and ragged, that empty hand closing into a balled up fist. She pummeled it against his chest. “You say you’re not a monster,” she hissed, “you’re not giving me a lot of grounds otherwise.”

“Some females like monsters,” he lowered himself on her a little more. “Some crave the danger, the thrill of the hunt, the excitement of being devoured…” he softened his mouth. “Not that I have tasted anything other than vermin.”

“Save your breath,” she hissed. “I hate everything that you’ve become, Astarion.”

He gave a chilling smirk. All honey and sweetness in his voice, even as his eyes seemed to catch the fire to glow a brilliant red. “So be it, but I’m not going hungry tonight. I will be quenching my thirst one way or another.” He purred, lowering his mouth beside her straining neck, licking the curve of her pointed ear. “And don’t you want it to be from you, after everything we've been through?”

He felt so heavy, even with all his danger and threat… even if he could rip her throat out and drink her dry. Part of her heart was beating in her chest that he wouldn’t, couldn’t do that. But her mind raced. The reality of his words, his sweet lies shrouding that history between them. Loathing did burn bright inside her. But her body still melted into his. “Why do you keep referring to what was ours? Our past, our history… our love… You can’t even recall it…”

His hand wound behind her neck, those long fingers tangling into those fiery strands of her head. “I’m beginning to… I’d like to remember everything, but I won’t if I’m so hungry, I can’t think… I’ll never remember you if I die in a fight because you didn’t let me feed.” His eyes softened, his icy touch making shivers run up her spine. “I may not recall everything, but you, darling, you can. And I think it would break that poor starlight-kissed soul of yours if it was a certain cleric that I drank from tonight in your place… darling.”

Her chest heaved. Her own teeth gritted and bared as she struggled to decide. “Fine,” she sneered. “Fuck you, Astarion.”

“Now that was more in line with my thinking,” he rasped, placing a kiss on the ivory skin of her neck. “I’ll stash that suggestion away for later consideration, darling, but first things first.”

It was colder than ice. Sharper. Deadlier. The piercing of her flesh made her shiver but not in fear.

In ecstasy.

His lips sucked on her wounds, gentle and loud, deafening as he took swallow after swallow from her body. She could almost see it, feeling it as her blood filled him. Feeding him. Strengthening him. Making him full and hard and virile.

“That’s enough,” she snapped, hiding the moan in her voice as a grunt. Faking the pain to hide her pleasure.

The commanding tone made him slide right off, the vampire shuffled to his feet. His fingers dabbed the corner of his mouth, keeping most of that trickle of her blood for her to savor its sight as it cut down the pale skin of his chin. “My mind is clear. I feel strong, I feel… happy…”

“I feel bitten and bloodletted,” she hissed, getting to her feet too, chest rising and falling as she panted.

“You’re fine, darling,” he purred, contented like a cat bathing in sunshine. “Now, as delectable as you were, I’ll need something more substantial than your blood.” He trod towards the treeline, pausing to speak softly over his shoulder. “This is a gift, dearest Cordehlia. This, I won’t forget…. for all I have forgotten.”

He crept into the woods, somehow more silently, feral and strong. The predator out to hunt.

And as Cordehlia settled back down in her bed, she knew sleep would not come the rest of the night.

Not with how her thighs shook and her neck stung. But at least she could rest.

And try not to remember the way his kiss caressed her neck, even if it was while drinking from her veins.

As dawn began to seep its light over the trees, she heard him return. A deep sigh in his sated throat as Astarion returned to his tent.

Cordehlia fought through the woozy haze to stand. His eyes found her easily in the dim light as she slowly approached him. “Good morning,” he smiled politely, as if he hadn’t just hours ago snuck into her bed and sliced her with his fangs. “How do you feel?”

“What do you think?” She sneered softly. “Lightheaded from the literal pain in the neck you’ve given me.”

“Tch,” he grinned and sucked his teeth, conceited and rife with his pride. “It’ll pass. Just be glad I’m but a weak little spawn and not a true vampire. A bite from one of them might kill you… if you’re lucky.”

Her brows furrowed. “Spawn you might be, but not weak.” She corrected him, even before she realized the kind affect her words would have on him.

“Well…” he coughed, hiding how he was taken aback. “I appreciate the sentiment, even if in reality all I have of a vampire’s experience is their unquenchable hunger, and precious few of their powers.”

“Then why haven’t you done me the favor, then, of bursting into flames when the sunlight hits your flawless skin?” She taunted, a laugh in her voice, even as she needled him.

Her humor did not go unnoticed by the vampire. “Oh, I should be cinders in this light, you’re right. These… parasites… someone, or something, has changed the rules. I shouldn’t be surprised if I can wade through rivers and sneak into houses uninvited.” His eyes flashed with that glint of seduction. “And as for my other… quirks… we can figure those out in time.” He bared his pointed fangs in the rising sun as he drew a bit closer to her. “A little… trial and error… I’m sure I could use some more of your help with…”

Her mouth flattened into a line, unamused outwardly, even if her eyes had just a hint of laughter as she looked up into his smirking face. “Perhaps, if you remain on your best behavior. That means, dear vampire, you feed on what you can hunt…”

His face drooped. “But…” he grimaced, more pain on his face than she had expected.

“But what?” she pushed. Just a tinge aggressively.

“Well, it’s just… my master did the same,” his reply eked out through clenched teeth. “I’ve spent two centuries barely fed, living on the vermin, the rats and mice and bugs he would allow me to eat. And now that I’m free, now that I’m basking in the sun, surrounded by friends and those who wish to help me…”

He turned those wide, soft, crimson eyes down on her. They brimmed with pain. And while she knew what he wanted, that he was using it to manipulate her, get her to agree to something more between them… She paused, searching into his face. He was lean, strong but small. But for once, his face looked full, those shadows beneath his eyes vanished, that gaunt, sickly edge to his cheeks and jaw rounded out.

The effects of her blood, she knew.

“Alright,” she relented, narrowing her eyes, commanding even in compromise. “Animals you hunt, and, if it truly makes a difference to your strength, your health…”

His head cocked slightly. Waiting.

“…you may feed on me. But only in secret, and only if you ask, and I accept you.”

“Of course,” he smiled. Truly smiled. “I’ll be gentle with you in the future, my darling,” he purred again. That rakish smirk twisting his handsome features. “I’m just glad you’re being so very sensible and thoughtful about these revelations. I feared stakes and torches and pitchforks, to be sure.”

As if on cue, the rest of the party, obviously woken by the conversation, approached.

“A vampire? Of course we are traveling with a vampire,” Gale chimed in, “Word of warning, I taste disgusting.”

“I’ll make you catch on fire, pretty boy,” Karlach added with a laugh. “Not joking.”

“I—” Shadowheart started with a chilling smile.

“None of you need worry,” Cordehlia interrupted before anything more came from the cleric’s mouth. “Astarion knows his rules, and if he wishes to keep himself in the good graces of the group, he will abide by them.”

“Oh my honor,” he placed a hand on his dead heart and bowed. “Now, who wants to see how many enemies I can decimate today? Since, after all, I can fight with all my weapons, teeth included…”

______________________

High sun found them creeping in the Grove, mists swirling as they searched for some wise woman… someone who might know how to remove these parasites before they took hold.

But something stank, and Cordehlia wrinkled her nose as they spotted a stranger in their path. Tall and scarred.

“Greetings, and pardon the smell,” he waved kindly. “Powdered iron vine,”

The metallic, sour stink was so strong, she could taste it on her tongue.

“It’s an old hunter’s trick...” he grinned and patted his leather vest. “Monsters usually give me a wide berth of comfort even as I pursue them.”

Astarion crept forward, sidling right behind Cordehlia, every muscle in his lean and lithe frame clenched and throbbed. “You're a monster hunter? I thought all Gur were vagrant cutthroats.”

He rippled with tension, Cordehlia could feel it, sense it swirling under his skin. Muscles bundled with tension, Astarion’s long and lithe fingers slowly creeping for the hilt of his blades at his back.

“What are you searching for, friend?” she smiled softly, flashing her bright elven eyes at the Gur, tucking her fiery hair behind her pointed ears.

She could feel Astarion lean in behind her ear. “Yes, work that elven charm… make him trust you.”

“Nothing so fearsome. Just a vampire spawn,” the stagger waved his hand. Dismissive. Underestimating.

The tips of her ears grew hot. That veil of red began to draw over her eyes. “When you’ve been in these realms as long as I have, you learn not to underestimate anything created out of malice and subjected to horrors.” She paused a moment, reaching behind her quickly, pressing her palm against Astarion’s rigid arm. “I’m sure a spawn could rip out your throat if he wanted to…”

“And he does want to, mind you,” he whispered into the back of her head.

“True,” the Gur nodded appreciatively, “spawn are only weak when compared to their masters.” He looked only at Cordehlia, who certainly looked the part of a helpful, curious hero. Batting her eyes and nodding her head encouragingly.

“I have not heard of many vampire spawn in the woods,” she giggled. Giggled. “And besides, you would be hard pressed to find one in the daylight. Near impossible,” she rounded to look at her band, her bell-like, merry laughter peeling among them all. Even as she gave a look to her rogue. Warning.

“To true again, lady of the fair folk,” the hunter added his own laugh. “But this one, Astarion, he is special. I’m to find him and bring him back to my people. I’m hoping the hag of these lands can help me flush him out…”

“He must be special if you are hoping to cut a deal of blood price just to find him,” she added. That laughter in her voice turned. It chilled the spine. “But if he is but a spawn as you say, why go to such effort? After all, are not monsters only creatures we perhaps do not understand, some are not born to the dark.” Her shoulders went rigid. Her voice beginning to turn sharper. Harsher. “Some are made into the monsters they become, and not of their own choosing.”

“I assure you,” the hunter began to match her tone. “A monster is far simpler than that. Unthinking, unfeeling, driven by the dark and fed by evil.”

Astarion held his breath, watching as her hand flexed and twitched behind her back.

“If that were true, it would sound like quite the threat,” now her teeth were gritted.

Astarion could hear her blood in her veins. Pounding. Beating. Raging for action. She turned towards him. “Hmm,” he met those piercing silver eyes, they swirled with lights, her skin flushed and hot as she stared. As if he could read her thoughts. “Maybe we should do something about this threat?”

The corner of her lip quirked slightly. Only for a moment. “My thoughts exactly. So glad you are so sensible, Astarion.”

“That’s…?” The Gur looked into the sky, the bright sun still filtering through the forest enough to turn a vampire to ash. “It can’t be. It’s…”

“Impossible?” Cordehlia gave another chilling giggle. “Maybe you judge your so-called monsters too harshly…”

“As the so-called monster, may I?” the vampire asked so prettily.

“No,” she replied, pulling her own blade from her hip. “Together?”

“Oh I think I see what I liked about you before…” a feral, wild smirk darkened his face. That smirk deepened at the glint that he caught in her eyes. That look of bloodlust, of twinkling aggression. A kindred spirit, he thought for the slightest second before his favorite part. Launching at the enemy, blades shining. Hearts racing. Most satisfying thing he thinks they could do side by side.

Most satisfying thing, for now.

[pursuitseternal]

“Tempting:” nsfw update to “Our Blood is Thicker:” ETL Astarion x Tav (OC)

Astarion x Fem OC | E | 5.2 K Astarbation and longing

Summary: Bloody from their battle, Cordehlia tales her party across the river, to wash away their scent and to wash away the stains of her violence. And while she wishes to bathe, Astarion has other ideas. Other, more tempting, ideas.

CW: Astarbation, romantic voyeurism, caught with his hand down his pants literally, lost memories recovered, shared night watch with feelings, trauma dumping (mutual), hurt comfort, ear stroking, How To Pet Your Angsty Vampire ™️

Previous Chapter | AO 3 | Astarion Masterlist

Chapter 3: Tempting…

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“Who knew you were so bloodthirsty?” Astarion purred as the party paused to catch their breath and clean their weapons.

There was no more threat. And it felt good for him to be free, to be spattered from the fruits of his labor. Well her labor too. He looked at her glorious form. Her pale skin was blood spattered and sticky. Her chest heaved under that light armor, but she knelt by the monster hunter’s body, praying for his speedy passage from this life. However misguided it may have been.

Cordehlia gazed at her hands, red and tacky as she tried to wipe them in the dead grass. “It isn’t a thirst for blood. When you’ve battled as many armies as I have… when you have made it to victory by the sheer force of your will, you learn to try to find some sort of…”

“Pleasure?” Astarion guessed.

“Healing?” Gale offered at the same time.

The she-elf’s lips quirked at their replies. “Both I suppose.” She avoided the wizard’s eyes. He looked so… concerned, worried.

“I’m sure your battle-wisdom saw the Gur’s death as the only solution,” Gale whispered, bending down to crouch near her, wiping his own bloodied hands on the grass, even if he had seen little blood against the Gur. “I worry though, if your… attachment to the vampire can influence your choices.”

She gave a smirk. “Of course he’s an influence,” she chided, a bit defiantly. “But as are you all. I haven’t stained my hands for centuries with the blood of Orcs, Humans, Sorcerers, and Aliens to ignore the lesson of never abandoning one of your own. And besides, Astarion is not a monster…” she spat the last words. As if the allegation were aimed at her… perhaps it was. Perhaps her pride bore the wounds from long ago, from giving so much to someone who… she shuddered to think of it more.

“It is reassuring to hear of such fierce loyalty,” Gale grinned. “I’d like to think you would do that same for me… for all of us.”

“Of course,” she nodded, a hint of gravity to her tone. “Now, perhaps we get away from the stink of bloodshed and make camp, I’m sure I’m not the only one starving and needing to bathe.”

“There is a narrow river nearby,” Shadowheart joined in. “Good for both washing and losing the stink of blood.”

“Good work,” Cordehlia smiled. “Lead the way then.”

The cleric smiled, heading deeper into the trees.

They moved quickly, pausing only once they heard the soft rushing of water. It was easy to cross, shallow and narrow and clear in the faint sun. But Cordehlia couldn’t help but notice Astarion’s hesitation before planting his feet in the running water.

Hesitation that melted to joy the instant he stepped in. He was… elated. Giddy. Speeding in his stride to join at Cordehlia’s side.

“You seem happy,” she smiled.

“Another gift of the parasite, it would seem,” he crowed. “It doesn't burn like hellfire. I haven’t stepped into a river since… well,” he looked at her from the corner of his crimson eyes, flashing his fangs down at her. “You know.”

“More than you probably do,” she gave him a sad smile. “You loved the water.”

He fell silent, nothing but the sounds of the water’s gurgle and the splashes they made trudging to the opposite bank. The forest was dense, thick, leafy bushes, wide-trunked oaks, so lush and fertile and green.

It made Cordehlia long for home.

It made the longing in her heart for her past all that more painful.

Numbness crept around her, making her skin itch with her victim’s blood. Making her soul crawl with shame at … the monster she had become. Her cheeks burned, every word the wizard had whispered at her… he knew. He saw it in her soul, and Astarion only drew that creature out to play all the more.

The reflection of the same temperamental, vicious, thirsty beast that clawed beneath her skin. For the good of her kind, she had fought. For protection, freedom, for a land of their own again where they could dwell in the light and dance beneath the stars.

It had been… selfless, she had thought, becoming a fighter, a commander, skilled with the blade and graced with the wisdom of her years.

But as she watched Astarion lingering with his boots in the rushing waters of the river, a wide smile on his face as he watched the foaming bubbles swirl at his feet… her heart tore in her chest. Aching.

Being a vampire didn’t make him a monster.

Not any more than being blinded by rash judgments made her.

He hadn't chosen his fate. But she… she did. To escape the pain and grief and loss.

And as she looked at her blood spattered hands, her stomach soured. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Astarion?” She snipped at him.

His giddiness irritated her. Infuriated her. And he rounded with that coy, insufferable smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he purred back loudly, “what, too many clothes on for a romp in the river for you? I’d be happy to shed a few layers if you wish to join me…”

He plodded up the bank, stopping short. He threw of that heavy doublet, letting it land gods knew where.

Hells, his shirt was soaked. Sweat or river water, it didn’t matter. It was sheer, clinging to the rises of his chest, every definition of his hard stomach….

But she was not in the mood. “Go be helpful, you rake. I need to bathe,” she snapped, pointing in the direction of the others, where the sounds of chatter and clattered chests and unpacking echoed.

“Alone?” he crooned, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“Yes,” she bit, roughly unclasping the buckles of her armor from her chest to toss away as well. “Gods, yes alone.”

“If that is what you wish,” he purred, eyes sweeping over her own bloodstained chemise. That crimson gaze paused where she felt it stickiest, where it hugged her hips and clung to her breasts. “But since we are alone, it seems… Perhaps you might allow me a bite?”

“What?”

“Just a little, it was so taxing, that fight. You know he wanted me dead… it is a miracle I’m still standing, you know….” Oh how his voice dripped with the honey of manipulation. That sweet edge of guilt softening his ask. “A little of your blood goes a long way for me, you know. And as a spawn,” his teeth flashed, that leering smirk that made her hot in places she wished it wouldn’t, “I’m always, always hungry.”

She hissed a breath, exasperated. “Be quick,” she shushed.

He was quick. Quick to hold her to him with a single arm around her back, hand pressing just above the rise of her ass. The other cradled her chin, turning her perfectly, so softly with a caress of his fingers before he sliced those razored fangs into her neck.

She shook, breath catching and not in just pain. It was still so wonderful, her body stretched and pressed against his. Missing the way it had always felt against her flesh. Hard where she was soft. Tall where she was shorter. Lithe where she was sturdy.

And before she had wished for its ending, he pulled away, licking his lips of her blood. “Just as delicious. I doubt I will ever tire of tasting you, my darling Cordehlia.”

“Leave,” she hissed, wiping her hand over the red wetness that trickled down her neck. “Please,” she added as a single tweak of hurt twisted his brow. As if he really had meant what he said. As if she spurned something that was true. “I feel disgusting. The sooner I wash, the sooner I’ll feel more inclined to a… delightful disposition, I’m sure.”

“You look far from disgusting,” he smiled softly, his eyes losing that lurid sharpness. “Blood spattered… heart racing with the thrill of the hunt… a hint of excitement to have me near, I would even guess. It made you taste all the more wonderful.”

“Please leave…” she sighed. Tired. Her hands fumbling with the rest of the pieces of her armor.

“As you wish, my darling,” he nodded, the tones of a perfect gentleman in his voice, as he turned to head up the bank. Pausing only to grab his coat from the ground before heading into the thick forest.

But there was more than mere reluctance that seemed to compel him to stay.

It was her.

And now, with her blood in his belly, coursing with its fire and flavor and passion in his veins. He throbbed.

In a way he didn’t remember experiencing.

He stopped behind the foliage. Frozen by the sounds of splashing in the river.

And that throbbing grew worse. Lower… prominent. Hard.

Just like last night. The only other time he felt this. That blessing of consuming living blood for once. Her blood rushing right through his muscles, hardening his cock with need. He had been determined to ignore it last night in the dark, his belly too hungry for thoughts of sex or self pleasure. Only thoughts for more blood to fill him.

But now, he wasn’t so distracted. Not from the sweet splashing of water as she swam so close.

Those sounds were… tempting. She was tempting.

For once, he wasn’t hard because he had to be. Wasn’t compelled to seduce or flirt for any reason other than he wanted something.

Someone.

He stopped, crouching into the greenery, slipping soundlessless to the edge of the water. It was so easy. So tempting.

Why not indulge… why not let himself find pleasure for once for himself. Not for his master.

The river was so close, the ripples lapping the shore even at this distance from their source.

From where she rose from its surface. Her skin so pale, hair darkened and wet. One knee into the earth, he crouched with all his stealth and felt his cock pulsing. As if her blood was calling back to its mistress.

By the hells… he had never wanted anything more.

It would be so easy still, just a few laces holding him in where he was so well concealed.

Fuck it, he decided. Fuck it, if he couldn’t fuck her.

And she was so enticing. And frustrating. So stubborn and soft and defensive of him and accusatory of him. All of it. It made his teeth set on edge, made his muscles long to push her against the nearest tree again. To put a blade to her throat or sheath his cock between her legs, he didn’t know which drive was stronger.

But it didn’t matter right now. He could finally do something for himself.

And what was the harm… he would bring her under his charms soon enough. It was what he did best.

Gods… he twitched the second his fingers gripped around his own cock. A spasm of pleasure rippling right to his groin. It would take long, he chuckled to himself as he slowly stroked up and down. Palming the seeping seed from its head, he spread it around a bit. This would be rough, but he couldn’t remember the last time he sought his own pleasure.

This was long overdue.

That’s it… he groaned, watching her slowly rise from the river, watching the water droplets trickling over her pert breasts, running like a stream between them as she stood. He grit his teeth and beat faster. Jealous of the water.

She rinsed her hair, fluffing it to catch in the beams of sun. If she wasn’t a nymph… a goddess of the waters herself the way she moved just as fluidly, as elegantly. He closed his eyes, pressing that image into his mind forever.

Her creamy skin and fiery hair… the thrill of having watched her for so long… of finally seeing more of what laid beneath the cursed swatches of fabrics and yards of gowns that clung to her curves. She was so close, he could hear her breathe… if he strained his hearing. Hoping he was far enough away that the water splashes would hide the dry rubbing of his cock in his fist… He would promise a million lifetimes just to make her his. His for a million lifetimes…

He was close, that tug of climax digging at his groin as he watched her bathing.

Until he heard the sound of boots too close.

Astarion gasped, his cum spilling into the dirt, his cock pulsing and twitching as more seed dripped and shot before him. So good… so very good. He couldn’t remember when he last felt so… happy. Sated.

And then, he gasped again as the cool kiss of a blade caught along his jaw.

“What’s this… a rogue caught sneaking?” Cordehlia hummed in amusement, drawing around from behind where he crept in the undergrowth.

Astarion laughed, low, quiet and tired. “Don’t tell me you’re not flattered, darling…” He glanced to how his cock still stood proudly in front of him. Long and pale and achingly hard in his hand. “…tell me you’re not impressed.”

“Impressed to find my rogue caught literally with his hand down his pants?” She scoffed, “please.”

He looked her up and down as he began shoving it back inside the band of his breeches. That dirty tunic of hers was haphazard, hastily thrown on. And nothing else, he noted with a pang in his groin again. Her mouth may be turned down at the corners, but he watched her pulse in her neck race, observed how her eyes dilated as she looked him over as well. “My my, Cordehlia,” he purred, standing from the ground, arching a single brow, his voice twisting in mischief as well as his mouth. “You’ve seen this before haven’t you?”

She smiled. The minx smiled, casting her eyes away as she resheathed her blade. “A lady doesn’t speak of such things, Astarion.”

“Ah, but you are no lady…” his smirk flashed to show his teeth, “least ways not for me, isn’t that right?”

“You know,” she chimed, clearly changing the subject. “You’re not as creative as you might think.” She just kept smiling like a fool. Swallowing a laugh. Like this was terribly funny. “I suppose you don’t remember,” she giggled. “But this isn’t the first time you have been caught with your weapon out watching me down by a river….”

Those images… she had looked so young… and he… he felt the same. When he had heard the sound of boots in the grass behind him… “Something strangely similar, no coincidence if it happened twice,” he crooned. Her smile faded as she looked into his eyes. “But… wasn’t it your father that caught me last time? I see you’re just carrying on your family legacy.” He smirked as he stood to square his body, daring a step to close the distance between them. “Unless there was something else you were just too tempted not to see…”

He leaned in, creeping in on her, close enough to glance down the collar of that wet chemise. “So, my sweet, what happens next?” He murmured, tempted to wrap his arms around her, to pull her flush against him where she could feel how she still made him hard. And he wasn’t so sure if it was only because of her blood in his body.

“Next?” she hummed, crossing her arms over those pert breasts. “For us?”

“You read my mind…”

“Oh, that’s simple,” she crooned, arching back slightly to look right up into his face. Her lips pouted, her eyes batting those long lashes at his smirking, arrogant, conceited grin. “We go to camp and finish helping, and then you are taking first watch since you haven’t lifted a finger helping in the slightest.”

“B-but...” he sputtered, a whine in his voice as she turned and began to walk away. “I do need rest too,” he fairly whimpered.

“I understand,” she threw a grin over her shoulder, finally breaking back from the forest onto the path. “Which is why I will rest first and come relieve you tonight.”

That’s when she reached the rest of her discarded clothing and armor. Astarion held his breath, watching as she bent over to pick it up from the ground.

“Sweet hells,” he sighed. That hem of her shirt sliding up the backs of her thighs, barely covering the swell of her ass, teasing around what laid between her legs. He forced himself to look away. Not for her sake. For his. One second longer, and he was sure something would be staining the insides of his trousers with cum.

And all he could do was keep his eyes on the grass and listen to her soft giggle as they kept moving.

—————-

Night was quiet, even if the evening had been eventful. Another member of the party appeared out of nowhere. A human warlock come for one of her own, but with her charm and her persuasion and her insight, Cordelia managed to convince the newcomer, Wyll, not to return to his mistress with Karlach’s head in hand.

And now, the Blade of Frontiers had joined the company. One more mouth to feed, Gale had grumbled, lightheartedly, but still a little grieved.

Of course, Astarion had been quick to point out that he didn’t count, of course. A joke that sent everyone giggling nervously, no one more than Cordehlia who avoided the heated look he flashed at her through the mirth. But aside from that near little slip up, he had not made any mention of their agreement. Instead he made a big show of heading out to hunt before his turn at first watch.

By a little after nightfall, as the rest of the party began milling towards their beds, he returned. And not empty handed. With a smile, he handed a pair of rabbits to Gale, some whispered something of a joke that made the wizard laugh quietly.

An unfamiliar sight. An unusual exchange.

And then he sauntered over before where she sat on her bedroll by the fire. “You look so deliciously surprised. You know, I can do something thoughtful from time to time.”

“I knew that,” she taunted in reply. “I just didn’t know if you did.”

He giggled. High pitched and bubbly.

At once, the sound filled her heart with joy. And pain. “I’ll relieve you soon,” she cleared her throat, sliding her legs into the warmth of her bed. “Don’t get yourself… or us… into any trouble.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He withdrew a single step before he paused again. “You know, you don’t have to sleep out here, if you do not wish it.”

She said nothing, turning her back towards him as she rolled onto her side.

“I have a perfectly good tent, comfortable, luxurious even in comparison, you would be more than welcome to occupy.”

Still nothing from her.

“After all, if we are sharing watches, it would only make sense to share more than just a duty. It’s not like I would be there with you while you slept...”

“Good night, Astarion,” she replied. Conversation ended.

He sighed. Continuing on his way back towards that aforementioned tent. And soon, Cordehlia fell into that less-than-restful sleep.

She woke to darkness, a night thick and starless. The fire still crackled, but it seemed faint. Weak.

Soft.

Stretching out her aching legs, her sore back, she slipped from her bed. Finding him at the edge of camp, perched comfortably on the pillows that he had set in the entryway of his tent. His mouth turned softly as she drew before him. A smile as she approached. “Cordehlia,” he whispered her name.

“You better rest,” came her terse reply.

“When there are so many other wonderfully tempting things to do in the dark, my sweet?” he purred, patting the cushion beside him. Beckoning her to sit.

Cordehlia bit her lip. Gods, after sleeping on the earth, if a pillow under her ass didn’t make her body cry and make her mouth water. Carefully, slowly, she sat. Giving enough space between them.

“Nice to see you do indulge yourself from time to time,” he whispered, sliding his body to view her. Simultaneously closing that distance between them just a bit. “I doubt I shall rest for an hour at least,” he drew closer as he spoke. His breath cold on her neck. “Any suggestions for how to pass the time?”

She twisted to face him.

Oh, mistake.

She thought herself ready for something like this, but… the way his hair shimmered in the distant firelight, the way those full lips of his parted and tweaked in the gentlest of smiles…. The way he was so very, very close.

She wasn’t at all stealed over in body, heart, or soul for such a feat as this. She closed her eyes, shutting them firmly as he gave her that soft, low giggle.

Not helping.

“Talk,” she cleared her throat, “ahem. We could talk. Or you could ask me questions of what was from … before.”

Her eyes opened to see him withdrawn. Those hard lines returning to his face, his shoulders stiff and squared as he gazed into the dark behind her.

“I suppose it would help you to know more… given that I’ve already had one monster hunter sent on my trail. I’m sure my old master will be relentless…” then he fixed the intensity of his eyes into hers.

Fear.

Loathing.

Panic.

“Cazador won't stop until he has me back.”

She froze. Careful not to fidget. And yet, he trembled. Eyes wide and voice pressed with rage.

“Of course he would send the Gur after me… that was why I… died. The case that would launch me into power and fame and rise to popularity. Banishing them from the city, making them keep their kind beyond all the walls of Baldur’s Gate, as far as my jurisdiction would allow. That night, I was attacked. Beaten. Left to die in the streets.”

It was Cordehlia that now shivered. The chill of death seemed to steal over her heart as she listened. It was… worse than she had ever imagined. The facts of his death, those she had found all those centuries ago. But this…

“That’s when… he found me. Cazador Szarr… he offered me eternal life, to keep me from bleeding out in the sewer of the street. Little did I know just how long eternity would be as his spawn.”

He fell silent. Chest heaving, throat choking as he tried to swallow. Then he began to shake.

“Shh, Astarion,” she instantly reached for him. As she had a thousand times in their lives.

But he hissed, flinching. “Don’t,” he panted. “Don’t touch me.” His voice little more than a hiss. “Not now… not right now…”

“It’s alright,” she poured her low, soothing voice over him instead. “I’m here,” that made him look up at last. “You’re here…”

His eyes were wide. Wet. Gods, what had they done to him.

“Shhh…” she cajoled again. “If you let me, there was always one thing I could do to help you when… you would feel like this.”

My love. Her heart wanted to add.

He still shook, but he managed a nod. “Gently,” he pleaded.

“There was never another way between us before, Astarion,” she whispered. Slowly she raised her hand, letting her fingers, lighter than air, trace their touch behind his ear. The soft pads of her fingers rubbed over that pointed edge of his ear, softly held between her thumb and finger.

Instantly he stilled. His shaking ceased. His shivers dissipated. Her touch was warm, calming and tender as she caressed his ear.

Slowly.

Lovingly.

His mouth hung open but no words came out. They just couldn’t.

“I can’t even recall how many times you would be worked into a frenzy… by your parents… by my parents… by your overwhelming need to be praised…” she continued quietly, her voice ringing with remembrance. Those soft memories that she had buried deep inside her, finally sliding out as she whispered them for his ears alone. “I tried it once, when you were…” she swallowed, the edge of pain now in her throat as he watched the same contorting her beauty, “when you were resting your head in my lap…”

His eyes flickered, that same sultry fire returning behind their crimson color.

Holding her breath, he did what she most feared… lowering those thick, unruly curls over her thighs.

That same weight pressed into her lap, that same comforting heaviness his body always gave her. Her hands continued to play around his ear, twirling and stroking into his hair.

The night breeze around them… the faint flicker of firelight… if it weren’t for the chill of undeath on his skin, the lack of pulse in his neck as he laid on her legs… she could close her eyes, savoring the balm of him. As if no time had passed. As if they both hadn’t bloodied their hands and dived into the darkness.

He rolled onto his back, eyes closed, breath steady. And her hands couldn’t help but to share the same soothing attentions to both sides of his devastatingly handsome face.

“I…” he started before swallowing. “We…” he tried again, almost pushing back against the way her hands caressed into his hair. But the spell was broken, having worked its charms. He sat up, those eyes narrowed again, peering at her with that pretense of rakish flirtation. “You’re full of surprises aren’t you?”

Her mouth twitched. As if she had a million flirtatious things to reply. But instead she just patted him on his cheek and smiled slightly. “You really should be getting some rest, our kind does still need some sort of …”

He caught her hand in his, his fingers gripping her firmly, keeping her body close to his. Crimson eyes scanned over her, heavy-lidded and lustful. “Resting at night is still such a novelty. Creatures of the dark aren’t used to… resting after sunset.”

Cordehlia smiled, carefully trying to slip from his grasp. But he held tight. She hummed, a nervous smile on her mouth. “Then indulge me and try it. I need you strong come dawn. Druids and Tieflings will abound, and I’ll need a rogue who is sharp in his mind and strong in body.”

His smirk widened, predatory and bright as she held her breath to see those fangs so close. “If you wanted me truly strong you would offer me more than just rest,” he rasped, gaze flickering where her pulse raged in her veins.

She swallowed, “More blood? What was earlier then?”

“Oh that? That was just a little treat… from my little treat,” he leaned closer, his breath so close she could feel it inhaling the skin of her neck.

“You are insufferable.”

His body went rigid, every muscle taught as he barely brushed against her arm, her shoulder. “Well, since I can’t be inside you, darling, the least we can do is for you to be inside me….”

Gods, her belly dropped to her knees, every nerve inside her catching fire and melting, pooling her desire to gather between her thighs.

“I don’t think I’m quite recovered from earlier,” she managed to reply. Only to feel a small, cool bottle shoved into the hand he still held. “What’s this?”

“You know your potions, She-elf,” he chuckled as she looking at the faintly glowing ruby liquid. “Nicked a potion of healing off the Gur’s body.” His brow arched, adding just that little darker edge of wickedness to his leer. “Can’t say I won’t take care of my treat…”

She opened it, instantly swallowing it down. Instantly feeling that hazy ache in her head clearing from his continued feeding.

Only to have him pull her flush against his chest, to have him place a gentle kiss on the bend in her neck before slicing into it with his fangs.

She groaned, subtle, letting her body arch against his, letting his hands cradle the back of her head, fingers knitted into her hair. Her eyes fluttered shut, her mind swept away by the feeling of his lips on her skin, the press of his body against her breasts, and then there was that new sensation. The dripping, pulsing of her blood as he swallowed her down, the way she could feel how her essence fed him. Strengthened him. Sated him. Pleased him.

She groaned again, this time she just couldn’t hold back the sound of how much she enjoyed this. It was… lewd. Pleasured. And instantly, he broke from her veins to smirk at her. Just for that moment, before he returned his mouth to her skin.

This time, he lapped at her with his tongue, tracing wet swirls with his spit through her blood.

She began going limp, but not from blood loss, he realized, from ecstacy. From pleasure. Her body couldn’t hide behind her barbs or anger or deflective questions.

She wanted this. She wanted him.

And gods, as her blood filled him, he felt alive, aroused by its strength, its potency. How it filled his aching stomach, soothing his hunger. How it hardened him in the groin again, making every little shiver and shift of her body as it brushed his lap all the more agonizing and tempting.

He gripped into her shoulders, pushing her away. Lest he take too much. Of her blood. Or her body.

And he didn’t want that.

“Thank you, Cordehlia,” he spoke, steady, even tones. “I enjoyed that immensely, and by the sounds of it… you did too.”

She said nothing, just gazing at him with those large, bright silver eyes. He could get lost in their brilliance. Warm and inviting. Like he had stared into them for a hundred years already. Maybe he had. “I… I think I will rest now,” he stood and began to draw inside the flaps of his tents, ignoring the way she trembled as he left. Ignoring the way his breeches were far too tight with how hard she made him.

“I trust you are no longer hungry,” she bid after him. He paused in the middle of the little gap in the doorway.

“Oh, don’t underestimate yourself. My hunger for you will only deepen,” he smirked down, a slight bow to his head, where she still lounged on his cushions. “Good night.”

For as much as he didn’t want to leave her alone, he didn’t want to go too far. And it was just too tempting… with the nearness of her body, the scent of her skin… like spring rain and meadow flowers, like all that was golden and shimmering and good in the woods.

He laid down in the dark of his tent, praying that at least those pillows would smell like her before dawn.

[pursuitseternal]

“Recalling:” update to ETL Astarion x Tav(OC) in “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x F!OC | E | 3.5K Dark Tragic Backstory

Summary: dawn before battle, Cordehlia ponders her past, recalling the monster she was… reassured by her companions that even monsters need someone to lead them, accept them, and in Astarion’s case, lust for her…

Dawn, Goblin Camp raid, Rescuing Halsin, Unaliving the Goblin leaders

CW: Violence, bloodshed, blood kink(umm vampire), trauma bonding with Karach and Astarion, Dark

Backstory for our F!OC, massive amounts of flirtation with the Vampire, effective use of the Tadpole as a way of communicating said Dark Backstory with everyone, NPC character death…

Previous chapter | ao3 link | Astarion Masterlist

Chapter 5: Recalling

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Dawn kissed the woods, the soft light breaking, making the Emerald Glade really, truly verdant. Aptly named, Cordehlia thought to herself, sitting atop the knoll. She looked down into the sun. It had been decades since she had last stared into the sun, the dawn before battle.

But old habits die hard, as she knew. And a hundred years of shedding blood became more than muscle memory for her. A hundred years of the same pleading before her blade tasted flesh, begging for forgiveness, begging for mercy from the lives that would be taken today.

Pleading that when she falls to the slow embrace of death, that her judgment would be swift and just.

She could hear the rustling of her band awakening with the light. Strange, she pondered, musing how they all trusted her unendingly. Recalling all that she had done. Recalling all she had been. Foul and dark.

If they knew who walked among them… even the mortals, so young compared to her and the longevity of her sins… surely even they had heard tales…

Cordehlia took a deep breath, her mind turning quickly from those memories of battle. She tried to bury herself in that feeling of him…

That kiss, Gods had it felt good. Unchanged by the erosion of time, his fervor, his devotion. The pure flame that was Astarion’s soul, bright as the stars he was named for.

She could taste him, not as the vampire he became, but as… the one whose soul she had loved. It was magical, as if time itself stood still, being consumed by him, feeling his remembrance, the way his body transported her two-hundred years. It was… eerily the same. His hands… his taste… the little tangles of his tongue between her lips.

She closed her eyes. Gods, if she could give anything to reclaim that feeling, of being thrown back before… before all this darkness and blood. For both of them. Recalling what was once good about her…

Footsteps drawing up the hill made her almost leap from her skin, her fingers patting her cheeks, as if she could hide the blush that thinking of him called to her face. She didn’t want him to see her lusting after him so badly. Not yet, even though she suspected he would be more than pleased… perhaps pleasured even.

Gods, she swallowed at the thought.

Clearing her throat, she turned to smile at the uninvited company, but it wasn’t a handsome pale face leering down at her.

Karlach grinned, sparking brighter than the dawn. Her unabashedly joyful smile made her stomach sicken. “Seems I’m not the only soldier that needs a moment before battle, eh?”

“Seems that way,” she forced a smile, her hand patting the ground beside her a split second before Karlach helped herself to the company.

“You know, Cordehlia,” she spoke, drawing her knees into her chest. “I can see the way you love and hate the battle. Something you’re good at, maybe too good. But not something you chose for yourself, isn’t that it?”

“How…” the She-elf turned, every nerve in her body on fire to defend.

But Karlach just laughed quietly. “Because it’s a mirror to myself. I didn’t choose to become… what I am… Advocatus Diaboli, as Wyll was so quick to label me.”

She swallowed, voice still steady, even as Cordehlia could feel the pain flowing from her Tiefling companion. “I was also taken, not unlike your vampire boyfriend.”

Cordehlia groaned, but let the insinuation pass.

With a breath, she continued. “I was robbed of a future, imprisoned, experimented on… made into the person I am through no choice of my own.” Then, she turned those glowing eyes on the elf beside her. “But that doesn’t make me anything less than what I am. It doesn’t change my freedom now, you know, same as Astarion,” she nodded her head somberly, “same as you.”

Cordehlia scoffed. “I’m not free, however.”

The pain in her voice even pierced her own heart.

“I was never forced into being the dark thing I was… and I didn’t choose to stop being the creature I had become. I was forced to stop. I… I loved it. I lived for it, when I was in the deepest throes of that life. It was… thrilling. Addicting.” She breathed, bunching her own knees into her chest, same as her friend. “But I was brought before the High Council, deemed too dark for my own kind. I was forced to retire, to live peaceably alone. To atone for my sins and darkness…” She looked into Karach’s worried face. “You wonder why I’m not quick to condemn anyone as a monster? It’s because I would be their queen. I can’t condemn those who are less monstrous than I.”

Karlach said nothing, watching as Cordehlia turned her face into the light again. Watching those silver eyes flutter shut, her chest shaking with breaths as she struggled to continue. “They even told stories about me, to scare the young ones into submission, all along the Sword Coast, they still tell the fables about… what I was…”

A hot hand rested on the top of her knee. “If it helps, it is what you once was…” she grimaced, “once were.” She laughed at the correction. “And we monsters are glad for your company, your leadership, Cordehlia.”

The elf met her gaze then, as the tiefling’s hand slipped away. Her chin shook, eyes wet with unshed tears. Karlach just gave her a gentle, reassuring smile, “Hey, soldier, if anyone knows what it’s like to put yourself back together after being made a war machine, it’s me, okay?”

“Thank you,” she managed to reply.

“Now,” Karlach stood and smiled. “I’ve got your back, and you still got your soul, you hear me?” She waited for a teary breath and a nod. “Let’s go get a Druid who can get these things out of our brains and take out some Goblins, eh?”

Cordehlia managed a laugh, rising to her feet as well, hiding the sniffle she made as they walked back down to camp.

But her heart rapt harshly in her ribs to see the first face that sought her out as she made it back.

Astarion grinned his greeting, flashing those beautiful, terrifying fangs at her. “Morning, my sweet,” he bid, so happily. “I don’t know about you, but I had some of the most… delicious dreams…” That genteel grin twisted, desirous and bright. “Let’s just say there was a lot of pale skin, soft breasts and bright red hair everywhere I wanted it to be…”

Her stomach lurched. The rush of emotions from grief to lust, from self-loathing to desire… She placed a hand on her belly, her insides heaving at the all-too-rapid shift of her heart.

His eyes narrowed, scanning her blanching face before following the wake of the Tiefling. “What’s the matter?” he queried, harsh in tone. “Did Karlach do something to you?”

“No,” she took a breath, waiting for her body to return to her. “I’m fine.”

“You look it, darling.” He chuckled sarcastically, “Fine, I mean.”

“What? Not delicious?” she threw the taunt back. Her head clearing, her muscles easing.

“Always,” he growled, that sultry smirk instantly replacing any trace of concern. “For a moment I was worried that the idea of us fucking made your stomach sour,” he continued.

She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Once, it would have, you know,” she chimed, letting the barb catch him off guard.

He gasped in feigned injury, “Darling, I would be wounded,” he drew himself closer to her body, that slow, stealthy creep that made her shiver, “if it weren’t for the resounding past-tense of what you say…”

The implication hung in the air between them, in whatever minimal distance did remain between their bodies. And Codehlia let it, grinning, mouth twitching to think that it wasn’t inaccurate, his reading.

But she drew back a step. “You do know it’s morning, dawn before battle? We have much to accomplish before anyone can even dream of such delightful pursuits.”

“Yes yes,” Astarion flicked his wrist before tapping both hands on the sheathed daggers at his waist. “Infiltrate the nasty little Goblins, get the Druid, get these worms out of our heads…”

“Precisely,” she began to turn, but his cold, iron grip caught her hand from her side, pulling her after him, commandingly leading her back into his tent.

“I need to tell you,” he spoke quickly, quietly, once the flap fell behind her. “I’m not too fond of the idea of a Druid joining our ranks,” he grimaced. “They are loud and hot-blooded, and so… earthy.” His eyes skimmed over her body. “And they will be eager to mate with anything and everything they set eyes upon…”

“Jealous?” she grinned, folding her arms across her chest, an amused smile teasing her lips.

“Of course,” he replied coolly, eyes narrowing to that half-lidded stare that seemed to pierce right through the clothing she wore. “After all, I am just beginning to remember who I was… what we were… I would hate for some lusty wildform to waltz in here and ruin things.”

“Funny,” she continued to taunt. “You didn’t seem too worried about a human warlock the other night.”

“Please,” he shook his head, all wry-humored and sultry. “As if…” he gagged, “Wyll,” he spat the name in disgust, “could compare to my levels of charm and good looks.” He took a breath, his face softening in a seconds, crimson eyes wide as he looked down on her. “Which brings me to the next thing I wanted to tell you. I wanted to, to thank you for all our little understanding…”

Her brows furrowed. “Of letting you feed?”

“Yes, naturally,” he nodded. Sincere in every outward way. “You were my first you know…”

Her lips pressed firmly at his words, almost imperceptible, but he took note of the reaction. A little further hint to their past, perhaps, that he stashed away.

“You are my first living blood, first thinking blood. Drinking from one such as you was forbidden me. I was made to live on rats, mice, foul vermin, or starved until I was nearly too weak to be good for anything. That was my… reward… for the victims I would lure back for Cazador.” He spat the name. “A moldering rat as a treat for my obedience.” He huffed a disparaging laugh, scanning her questioning gaze. “I can see your thoughts, darling, why not just try to feed on my own? Well, as if I could disobey his command not to even try to sample something else.”

He looked so forlorn. As if even the words he shared couldn’t possibly describe what it was he endured. Suffered.

Unphased, he continued, “That’s the thing about vampire spawn, you know, they are compelled to obey, forced in their bodies to do… whatever is ordered of them.”

A moment passed between them before he looked up. Her eyes were soft, her face rife with concern. He was glad of it.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “For telling me.”

“I only wanted you to know my plight before we add another rutting male to our midst,” he crooned with a sneer. “I depend on you, you know, darling….”

Cordehlia gave a little hum, patting the chilled cheek of her rogue. “If you wanted to make certain I value you, Astarion, you don’t need to go to such lengths to convince me, you know.” She smiled, “A simple, please allow me to keep feeding on you, would suffice. Though your way with words is so skilled and eloquent.” Her brows raised as he began to smile too, “Even more than I recall.”

“Two hundred years of living on nothing but your wits and good looks makes you learn all things new,” he taunted in reply. Even as his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Is that why you pulled me in here alone, Astarion?” she pressed.

“Well…” he flashed that look again, the one rife with danger that made her belly flutter. “I wanted you to be my first thinking blood, you know… I wanted to know how you tasted.”

That last word sent her stomach fluttering again, her nerves burning.

“I wanted to thank you for such a favor, darling. And after the way you kissed me yesterday…”

“You kissed me, you mean?” she taunted, her face unmoving as she watched him take the barb in perfect stride. Making him smirk all the wider. All the hungrier.

“Regardless, you seemed to… enjoy it too. It just gave me ideas… of ways to thank you properly, you know.”

“Oh,” she grinned, innocent and bouncing on her toes. “You mean like fighting in battle today? Being a critical part of our party? Keeping me from losing all control on the battlefield?”

“And why would I do that?” he purred, letting his fingers stroke up the sheathed blade that hung at her side. “You are most attractive in battle from what I have seen. Magnificent, intelligent. Do not deny yourself that chance to shine, darling.” He leaned closer until his breath passed between her panting lips. “And besides, I’m certainly hoping that bloodlust from today becomes plain, old, carnal lust by nightfall.”

Her face is hardened, a distant fire behind her eyes. Her breathing is so faint, he had to lean in close to even hear it. “Take care, Ancunín,” she hissed. “You have yet to see the real monster that lurks beneath me in battle.”

“I hope she’s fearsome to behold,” he grinned, letting his hand wander up from her weapon, grazing her hip to tug her just that bit closer, to pull her against his body. “I’m sure she is nothing to be ashamed of, as one monster to another.”

She shivered under his touch. “You are not one, not compared to me.”

“Well, as you have said to me, darling, when you’re ready, I’ll listen. I’m all pointy ears, love.”

That made her huff a laugh, a slight smile peeking at the corner of her lips.

Nothing could come from her mouth. No words. No amount of gratitude, of awe for the way he didn’t push or recoil. His hand just pressed into her lower back, his lips waiting to see what she would do.

Hells take it if she didn’t give him a little sign of her thanks. She raised on her toes, pressing her lips to his.

Almost surprised, he accepted it, her quick little peck, letting her step away, out of the shadows of his tent.

—————

The goblin camp stank, just as they all had, Cordehlia wrinkled her nose.

At least, the Druid was freed. But victory was far from near. Halsin brimmed with gratitude, even as Astarion failed to hide his eyes rolls. “Funny way of showing thankfulness, giving us another mission,” he grumbled as they left the Druid behind. Three Goblin leaders to dispatch would be no meager task.

Cordehlia shushed him, but he only continued to hiss his complaints as they crept deeper into the camp. “I’ll try not to think of it as helping, mind you, just gaining some other opportunities to dispatch more of these Goblin trash…”

“How altruistic of you,” Gale let the sarcasm fly in reply.

Astarion turned that insincere smirk at the Wizard. “You all keep using that word to describe my choices. I’m beginning to think you’re the ones who don’t know its meaning….”

“Hush,” Cordehlia rounded on the pair of them, only making Kalrach snigger as well. “We must be cautious, these are no dumb Goblins. They think us True Souls. It will take cunning, especially against Drow warrior Minthara…”

As if on command, the entryway opened to a greet chamber, the dark skinned, ruthless Drow bellowing orders at the other end.

Her sharp gaze glanced quickly. Her smile sickeningly twisted. “Speak, are you here to join the battle?”

Cordehlia stepped with all the confidence centuries of bloodshed could give her. “Hail, True Soul,” the She-elf nodded her head. “We are sent to aid in the ravaging of the Grove.”

“Prove it,” Minthara snipped, her hand drawing her blade. “You are not Goblin nor Drow, and as such, I have no qualms with spilling your guts on the ground for fodder.”

“Very well,” Cordehlia replied, more exacting in her voice than even her foe.

She raised her hand, calling upon the worm…

The ground ran red. Blood. Elven and wizard and alien, it smelled delicious. Her feet squelched in it, the lives of her enemies drained by her hand. She resheathed her dagger, bright metal, etched with a signet near the tang.

A Raven, a black bird in a dive.

She began to brush the blood from her coal-black armor. The pattern of feathers collecting the crimson running down her body.

Cordehlia took a deep breath, looking at her field of glory one more time. For her people. For herself.

Everyone gasped as they returned to the caves, their consciousness all stunned as her band looked at Cordehlia, up and down. Their minds all linked by the worm, her vision in their heads too. The recalling of her past, dark and bloodied, as it broke upon them all.

“My my,” Minthara crooned, impressed as she resheathed her blade. “I know of that blade, that chilling reputation. The Absolute surely knows how to choose souls for her service. It has been ages since you have been seen, isn’t that right?”

“Half a century, by the reckoning of my people,” she replied, her tone distant. Harsh. “They would like to think I’m dead. Forgotten.”

“That will not be your fate with the Absolute, and not with me, my Lady Corvus,” Minthara bowed. Low, bending at the waist.

She could hear the way her band’s breath froze. But she couldn’t reply. Not yet. “My company of True Souls needs a moment of respite, if you will give it to us. Those damned Druids depleted our resources, but we know where they are. My scout will give you the location once we tend to our needs, Lady Minthara.”

“Of course,” smiled the Drow, dismissing them with a wave.

She held her head high, marching them down to the corner of the cavern. Of course, it was Gale who stared Cordehlia square in the eyes once they were alone. “The Lady Corvus, Bone Picker, most intelligent elven warrior of her kind, so ruthless in battle, every bone of her enemies was left bare.”

She shook her head. “You see now,” she sighed. Mouth twitching. Eyes cold. “You all pale in comparison to me, no one can match my monstrosity.”

“Ahem,” Astarion cleared his voice right beside her. “First of all, you say pale and monstrosity like they’re bad things….”

“Astarion!” Gale snipped to interrupt, but the Pale Elf just held up his hand to silence him.

“You don’t know half the things I’ve done… that perhaps any of us have done. And yet you don’t turn us away,” he continued. His voice was smooth, gentle, not dripping in seduction, but wrapped in comfort. “We won’t turn from you either, you know, whether you are Lady Corvus, or just Cordehlia.”

“That’s right, soldier,” Karlach was the first to pat her on the shoulder. Rough and steady. “Why, I’ve severed more heads than I’ve kissed faces.”

“I’ve damned a thousand souls for Cazador’s meals,” Astarion added, a smile on his face. “Bet I’ve done worse than you, Lady Corvus…”

“You wish to compare body count?” she gave a single, dark laugh.

“Well, we know whose hands are bloodier now at any rate,” he quipped.

“You mean face, I believe,” Karlach pointed as she guffawed.

“Shhh,” Cordehlia suddenly held up her hands. “We are supposed to be evil. Not some silly band of youths here to loot and pilfer.”

“Tch,” Astarion smirked. “You’re no fun if we can’t do that…”

Minthara did stride over, frowning at the sound laughter and merriment. “Well, it is curious to see such mirth in the warriors of Lady Corvus,” she hissed. “I’m surprised, given the tales of your deeds, your bloodshed.” Her thin lips quirked. “Have the decades of seclusion softened you? Does the Absolute know of your…”

Her breath left her body. The quick work of Cordehlia’s dagger shoved between her ribs. “The Absolute can rot, and so can these brainworms,” she hissed into Minthara’s dark, pointed ear.

Cordehlia’s eyes looked into the Drow’s, watching the light fade from them, a dark smile on her lips. Then, those silver eyes flashed at the rest of her party. “Get them,” she ordered, a nod of her head at the rest of the Goblin hoard.

Gale and Karlach snuck off, the wizard’s hands glowing already, the Tiefling’s ax ringing in her hand as she swung if off her back. But it was Astarion who lingered and grinned at her, watching as she dropped the body of their enemy at her feet. “With pleasure,” he purred, snatching her bloodied dagger in his hand. The Drow’s blood dripping down the bright blade, the etching of the Raven near the hilt darkened red.

He licked her blade clean, his eyes locked into hers, watching her chest heaving, her eyes hazy as she watched every little flick his pink tongue made along her weapon before he handed it back.