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bigdumbbambieyes · 1 day

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omegaverse nsfw for @shieldofiron 🤍

Steve always tries to pretend he’s not into the shit Billy does to him — he pulls faces, gives the weakest complaints, glares.

Like that time Billy bent him over his desk in his bedroom and ate him out until he was a sloppy little mess, arching his back and baring his neck and bitching the entire time until Billy pulled him onto his lap and onto his knot.

Or whenever Billy’s shoving his face into his omega’s neck to nose at his scent glands, nuzzling and licking and biting at them so Steve stinks of him and Steve tries to act bothered and annoyed — but Billy’s rubbing at the crotch of his boyfriend’s jeans to feel the tell-tale bulge there.

Steve never really means it. He’s just a bitch. And a brat.

Like now, when it’s late at the quarry and he’s shoving the pretty boy into the back seat of the Beamer, Steve settling against the leather and glaring up at him.

Billy doesn’t say anything, just smirks as he shuts the door behind him as he settles on top of Steve, pressing his heavy body down onto him, his nose going for those scent glands again and inhaling the bittersweet florals there.

“You don’t have to fucking push me,” Steve huffs just above the music playing from the tape in the deck, his hand weakly shoving at Billy’s shoulders, like he’s making a show of it.

Billy licks across that gland, tastes sweet honeysuckles on his tongue, and Steve goes still — goes sweet for him and only him, tilting his head with a soft sigh, parting his thighs obediently.

“I know I didn’t have to,” Billy hums as he settles between Steve’s thighs, “But, you like it.”

“No I don’t,” Steve pouts, his cheeks burning hot.

Billy moves his mouth up, noses at Steve’s temple as his lips press to his omega’s ear, playfully growling, “Then why do you smell like a bitch in heat, hm?”

He can smell Steve’s slick already, hears the pleasured little whine his pretty boy makes as he ruts his hips up against Billy, the hard press of his cock trapped in his jeans making Billy’s mouth water.

“S’your fault,” Steve gasps as Billy hurriedly pushes his boyfriend’s shirt up and presses kisses to his chest, sucking little bruises there just to feel the hard grip Steve gets on his hair.

A fistful of blond curls in Steve’s hand is a powerful thing. Billy feels the pull, directing him lower, and it’s like his scalp is directly linked to his cock with how he’s twitching in his tight jeans as Steve pulls on his hair again.

“What, you want my mouth?” Billy breathes as he tugs Steve’s jeans open and down, letting the other kick them off towards the front seat.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, watching Billy pull his briefs down, his cock slapping almost wetly against his lower stomach once it’s free.

“Where, baby?” Billy asks with a soft moan as he wraps his hand around Steve’s fat cock, so fucking big for an omega it drives him crazy, “Right here?” He asks as he smears the pearl of precum with his thumb, swirls it in little circles just to watch Steve’s jaw drop.

“Fuck,” he moans, looks so pretty like this, so needy. Billy loves it; Steve will beg with those big brown eyes of his whenever he really wants something but doesn’t want to say it.

Like now. Billy knows what Steve wants. He knows he’s gonna be burying his face between Steve’s cheeks and lapping at his hole, fucking him with his tongue until he’s crying, but he waits.

“Yes or no,” Billy chides him gently, stroking up and down so slowly, driving his baby wild as he stares up at Steve and asks, “You gonna be good for me?”

It works like a charm. Steve’s eyes glaze over a bit, that honeysuckle scent filling the car, and it’s so thick Billy could almost choke on it. Almost.

He breathes it in deep, feels a pleased little rumble in his chest on the exhale, a sweet little sound for his omega — who chirps in response, his cheeks flushed with pleasure.

Steve nods and whispers, “Yeah.”

“Then grab the back of your knees and show me that pretty little hole, baby,” Billy hums, watching as Steve scrambles to do just that, grabbing and spreading his legs as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

And despite the bitching and moaning that Steve always does, or how stubborn he can be, he’s still a good omega. The best, really. Always presenting himself for his alpha, just like this.

And in other sweet, non-sexual ways, too. But Billy doesn’t want to think about that.

No, instead he gives Steve another little rumble from his chest and grabs the back of his thighs, squeezing them as he lowers his mouth to lick the flat of his tongue from Steve’s hole and up to the tip of his dick.

The moan his boyfriend makes is fucking filthy, taps at something a little primal in Billy’s brain, makes him want to knot his pretty boy and bite his neck, claim him for all to see and understand just who he belongs to.

So, he does.

But not before he’s licking into Steve with purpose, stuffing his tongue as deep as he can into his omega, listening to the cute little whimpers and whines and ‘fuck’s and ‘Billy’s that leave his mouth as he eats out his sweetheart.

Steve’s hand is in his hair again, trembling from pleasure as he rocks his hips down, gripping and pulling as he gasps and moans, “I’m gonna—Billy, I’m—”

He licks his omega through his orgasm, as he always does — as any respectful alpha should. He can feel Steve tense, his chirping so soft as he goes a little limp, totally spent.

Billy fucking slurps the slick on his tongue, because he knows it makes Steve’s nose scrunch like the princess he is, and surfaces to look his fill.

Steve’s catching his breath, his hands still gripping his thighs, his stomach covered in cum with his cock untouched.

That feeling washes over Billy again. It starts low, at the bottom of his spine, and it crawls up and up and up until all he can think is mine, all mine.

Steve must see the look in his eye or smell it on him, because he tilts his head, baring his neck.

Billy’s immediately there, smearing the slick on his mouth across Steve’s scent glands, breathing in deep and growling in delight.

Honeysuckles and something sharp, citrus. Orange juice.

“Need you,” Billy groans, moving his mouth up to nip at Steve’s jaw, kissing across it and up to his chin, “Been so good, Stevie, hm?”

“Kiss me,” Steve whispers, so desperate for it, ducking his chin and finding Billy’s mouth, licking the slick from his tongue with a trembling whimper.

Steve always gets like this after he’s cum. So clingy. Needs Billy to kiss him or he’ll fucking die.

Which is kinda sweet.

Billy sucks on his omega’s tongue before pulling away, shushing the whined protests he immediately receives as he opens his jeans and pushes them down, grabbing the base of his cock and sliding the tip through the mess of slick and spit at Steve’s hole before finding his lips again.

He pushes his tongue into Steve’s mouth just as he slides home inside of him, groaning at the familiar wet heat of both.

Steve’s stuffing his hands under Billy’s shirt, fingernails digging into skin as his alpha bottoms out, stuffing him full until his knot teases at his rim.

“Want it,” Steve pants into his mouth, his brows furrowed as he begs, “Please.”

“It’s all yours, baby,” Billy groans as he pulls his hips back, his eyes rolling a little at the way Steve’s body clutches at him, doesn’t want him to move, just wants his fat knot and nothing else.

He begins to move again, lets Steve seal their mouths together again as he fucks him, one hand pushing a thigh back while the other steadies himself, feeling the car rock and shake as the music gently plays over the filthy sound of their bodies meeting.

The air is thick and hot and Billy never wants to stop. He wants this forever.

He feels Steve tense under him again, notices how sloppy his kisses become, his nails scratching lines down Billy’s back as his moans get higher.

No fucking way.

“You gonna cum again?” Billy grins, presses his mouth to Steve’s ear again when his boyfriend turns his head, “Feels that good, huh, princess?”

“Shut up,” Steve whines, his voice soft and small and so telling.

“You don’t gotta pretend,” he can’t help it, he loves teasing Steve, “We both know you love it — you’ve cum on my knot enough times to prove it.”

Steve fixes him with the weakest and cutest little glare, but it wavers as Billy ruts his hips deep, presses his knot against Steve’s rim again, like a promise.

“You want it?” Billy growls low, pressing his face against Steve’s neck, licking over his scent again.

“Please,” Steve sobs, so close now, teetering on the edge, “Billy, please.”

He feels his balls draw up at the sobbed little begging and ruts his hips again, pushing his knot inside and locking them into place just as he bites down on Steve’s neck hard.

Steve cums with a cry, spilling between them again as Billy tastes copper. Not a lot, nothing like the first time he’d claimed Steve, but the taste of it woven with the scent of his omega finally soothes that need inside him.

Mine, all mine.

He relaxes with a soft huff, licks over the bite affectionately, nuzzling at it with the tip of his nose as Steve chirps happily.

Lifting his head, Billy spots the happy and soft little smile on Steve’s face, and watches him chirp again, their gazes held.

Billy rumbles, nearly purrs, and Steve’s smile grows.

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy smirks, “So happy on your knot.”

Steve shrugs with a matching little smirk, like the cat who got the cream, and Billy loves him.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #omegaverse #lemon #i didn’t mean for this to be so long but it had to be done!!#i hope you like it Saf!! 🤍

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ficbrish · 23 hours

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A Tumble

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

[AO3 Link]

[Kinktober 2023 prompt thanks to @absurdthirst! October 19th - Biting/Scratching, Piercings, Marking]

[[TW/CW: Injury, cptsd, blood, gore, alcohol, food, scar trauma]]

Summary: Vistri falls in battle, and Astarion wants to savor her survival.

Early in Act II, a while before the confession.

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

“Vistri!” he shouted her name so sweetly the other night, and now it crawled out of his mouth as something misshapen and wretched.

It wasn’t the first time Astarion saw her fall during a fight. She was a sorcerer; her type only ever brought robes and the raw, unlimited fury of the weave to battle.

Dropping to his knees, he sent another fiery arrow after the shadows and knelt beside her fallen form, like a paladin at the altar of their god. Vistri was crumpled like a rag, unmoving.

The others could handle themselves—She needed someone now! Astarion left the rest of the fight for them to finish up, wrenching the pack off his back and reaching into it with trembling hands.

Too many scrolls. So many fucking scrolls! There was one for poison, another for grease traps—for gods damned spiderwebs!

None for revival.

“Get up! Gods damn you!” he cried, still searching through his pack, “Get up!”

There was blood on her neck, but it was wrong. It wasn’t from his fangs at her invitation. The shadows did that to her.

The darkness in these woods was of a different kind; thick and overbearing, like the moment just after something horrible happened. The very air around them clung to their throats with every breath, coating their airways with heavy gravity. Such a perpetual night was hard to get used to and threw off all their senses, even for the vampire and the drow.

A ragged draw of breath by his knees stopped Astarion’s heart mid-beat. Vistri’s stillness had been deceiving. Quickly, he stuffed the scrolls back in and pulled out a bright-red potion instead.

Gingerly, reverently, he lifted her head up into his lap, mumbling prayers to gods who never answered. Astarion dabbed a bit of the serum onto Vistri’s lips, coaxing her to drink the rest. As she did, magic and dragon blood rapidly closed her wounds.

A bit of color came back to her periwinkle cheeks.

Vistri coughed, “Hello dear.”

He sighed into the sight of her living eyes and bent over to kiss her. Their lips were upside-down, and despite the inherent silliness of such a position, Astarion kissed her with ever grateful fervor. Vistri laughed and kissed him back as if she hadn’t just been ripped open and unconscious.

Feeling something creeping up behind him, Astarion unsheathed a knife from his thigh and excused himself, “Wait here a moment, love.”

He set her gently to the side and rose quickly with a twirl. His blade stuck immediately into the belly of a shadow cursed Harper, burrowing deep in its gut, and twisting for a mortal wound—Or mortal again. Face to face with the old corpse, Astarion stared into its blank, rotten eyes. The death on it was rank, stinking of at least a hundred years. Not having seen his reflection once these past two hundred, it made him wonder whether he had those same dead eyes.

One glance back at Vistri allayed him of those fears.

“Come back to my side at once,” she pouted, arms crossed.

In his rush to oblige, Astarion stabbed the undead creature through its brittle skull. Its face shattered and the whole decayed body shook with renewed lifelessness, collapsing on its own weight. It toppled over and crashed into his shoulders like a perverse greeting.

Regaining his balance on his back foot, Astarion pushed the rotting cadaver off him with a disgusted, “Eugh!”

His trousers were going to tear at the knee if he kept sliding on them, but it got him to Vistri’s side that second faster.

Which was worth it, “You blasted!” He kissed her about a million times, grumpily and gratefully, “Hag!”

“Hey!” she protested as he clung to her cheeks.

Astarion interrupted his flurry of pecks to chastise her, “Stop dying, then!”

“I didn’t die! Exactly...” she stubbornly insisted, refusing to ever take anything serious, seriously. “I just fell over!”

“You almost died!—Not that I care anything about it.”

Vistri couldn’t help but smirk at the way he turned his face away like a miffed housecat. His tones and expressions overflowed with shifting emotion, painting the loveliest picture of his heart, before settling into bitter denial. She might not have many memories, but Vistri was sure she’d never had this much fun with anyone else before.

“There’s something so dashing about the way you pout.”

Her little compliment made Astarion’s expression shift dramatically once again. He tried his best to frown, and faced her again just to turn his nose up, “Don’t try to flatter your way out of my concern.”

“Thought you didn’t care.”

“I don’t!” he scoffed.

“Oy! Children!” Karlach called out, emerging from the gloom with her flaming greatsword flung lazily over her flaming shoulder, “Lend a hand next time, will ya?”

She and Wyll were strutting towards them out of the near dark, obviously smug about having felled the last of the foes on their own.

“I am no child!” Astarion spat, “I’m over 200 years old!”

“Act like it then,” she winked cheekily.

Ally or not, he was ready to jump up and fight until Vistri reassuringly squeezed his hand. Reaching to him through their tadpoles, she explained, Karlach’s only teasing for fun, love. It’s a rough and tumble thing! She wouldn’t be teasing if she didn’t respect us.

Astarion dropped his shoulders. He knew that sort of thing. That’s how they all talked to each other all the time. But something about the way she said children reminded him of a much colder heart. If it weren’t for Vistri’s interference, he would have acted out of line.

Perhaps out of embarrassment at that recognition, Astarion decided to compensate with an extra level of what was expected of him.

“You hear that, my dear?” he quipped, sheathing his knife, “Karlach thinks we should act more… adult.”

Demonstrating his obvious innuendo, he scooped Vistri by the waist to bring her closer. In full view of the others, Astarion had his way with her tongue.

“Ah, love,” Wyll remarked dreamily, pretending to appreciate their display.

“Don’ know if I’d call that love,” Karlach groaned, “More like bragging if you ask me.”

With a teasing grin, he countered, “What is love if not life’s greatest braggart?”

“Should write that down, mate.”

“Really?” Even though it was only in jest, Wyll was a bit flattered, “You think so?”

Karlach winked, “I’d say you were a poet, and ya didn’t even know it.”

The lovers paid their banter no mind, hearing nothing but the breathing and humming singing across one another’s lips. There was nothing else in the world. To Astarion, it was all taste; savoring Vistri’s very existence. She’d come so close to disappearing; her soul slipping though his very fingers...

Her lips were warm. They were so warm.

“Um, guys?” Wyll cleared his throat, “Can we go now?”

Vistri hummed dreamily as she tore herself away, and spoke still gazing into Astarion’s flustered face, “If I can yet stand on two feet.”

“If you can’t, I’m sure prince charming down there would be happy to carry you.”

Karlach guffawed, the very idea of him carrying anyone absolutely hysterical to her, “As if!”

Astarion stood up abruptly with an offended stomp, “As if?!”

“Come on, Fangs! Be real about it! Carry someone? All the way back to the inn?”

Before she knew what was happening, Vistri found herself swept up and thrown over Astarion’s shoulder like a heavy sack. She squealed with a mixture of terror and delight. Her head still light after her injury, the world spun.

“I’m not as useless as I may seem!” Astarion grumbled, tossing her around a bit as he adjusted his hold.

Exchanging raised brows, neither Karlach nor Wyll argued. But they were irritatingly smug about their silence.

Shrieking was common in the Shadow Curse lands, but Vistri’s was startlingly out of place. It had laughter and happy shock ringing brightly through it, “Your face is right by my bum!”

“Is that a bad thing, darling?”

“But what if I fart?!” she asked, breathless with laughing abandon.

“Don’t you dare!” he scowled.

Her ribs felt weak, “Quit jostling me about then!”

Knowing their antics could go on forever, Wyll accepted that their leader was distracted and turned to lead the way. As they walked back, he and Karlach stuck close, leaving the lovers to trail behind them in their own world.

He leaned in with a teasing comment, “Aren’t they sweet?”

Snickering, Karlach nodded back in sardonic agreement.

In a sense, they were sweet, both all charm on the surface and poison underneath. They just fit!

Mirrors don’t always fall in love, but those two fools obviously had. Everyone but them seemed to accept that fact. They were too smart to be clueless, but if they were aware, they stubbornly fought it like doomed fingers desperately grasping the edges of a cliff. As dangerous as they seemed to think it was, the worst that could happen was happiness. Such a blessed doom was sweet.

But they were loud! A constant buzz, bickering by daylight and shouting by moonlight. Annoying as they were, it was a good thing they were easy to poke fun at.

Impressively, Astarion managed to carry Vistri the whole way. She may have cast Feather, but they left out that detail when he bragged about it to the others back at Last Light. He was determined to prove everyone wrong about his strength—They should see how he was normally, before the tadpole traded away some of his powers for sunlight. He was a fearsome thing, and everybody should know it!

Vistri thought it was quite an impressive feat regardless. She’d smiled the whole way over, bouncing awkwardly, enjoying the warmth of his back. His hands strongly grasping the back of her thighs was a bonus.

She also managed not to fart.

After he paraded her around like the village braggart toting fresh-caught venison, Astarion finally set her down. There was a strong sense of regret when she left his arms, as if they’d lost something precious. Trying to pay that no mind, they stood blankly across from each other. Not knowing what to say or how to address one another.

“Well… Thank you,” she said, breaking their brief silence.

“For saving your life, or for carrying you?”

“Oh, there’s a list?” she chuckled.

His smirk was equal parts mischief and self-satisfaction, “You’ve been incurring a lot of debts lately, my dear.”

Vistri pretended to be startled, “Have I? Oh my! However shall I endeavor to pay them?”

Lifting a thoughtful finger to his chin, he mused, “Hmmm, what a dilemma!”

Imagining what naughty thoughts hid behind his sly, teasing eyes made Vistri shiver with something delicious. Her feeling wasn’t apparent from the outside, but Astarion had a sense of her growing anticipation regardless. He made her wait for as long as he could bear, then said, “How about I think on it a while? Best not to make any rash decisions.”

“Take your time,” she giggled, “Just make sure to get back to me with something goo—” Her stomach gave a loud, obnoxious growl.

She blushed at its interruption.

“Oh, dear,” Astarion said, “We should fix that, shouldn’t we?”

When they returned to camp, Vistri noticed he was being uncharacteristically subservient and sweet. He refused to let her do anything other than sit by the fire while he fetched her a bowl of something hot. He even brought a blanket to throw over their legs and sat there with her as she ate.

Vistri gazed at him, startled.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head to clear it, answering, “Nothing,” and started eating.

It was a very plain stew with fish and beans, but it was everything to her on a night like this. Or was it even night? They had no sense of time in the Shadow Curse lands.

Astarion dipped his finger into her bowl and licked it.

“Hey!”

“Just wanted a taste.”

Her glare turned into something heated at his smile. Looking at him now, you’d never think his face held any worry. Well, minus the dark circles. And the haunted depth of his eyes… Whatever! In little flashes like this, he was brand new. No more heaviness. Vistri may have grown up with a sorcerer’s might, but she never felt more magical than when such an expression sat on his face.

“Oh, I’ll give you a taste,” she stated suggestively, tilting her neck to be perfectly clear about which kind.

Astarion was practically salivating.

“Oy! You two!” Karlach warned, “No blood where we eat—Including robes, Gale!”

“It was one time! And it was only a splatter on the hem!”

She rejected his excuse with an arm-wave and a chuckle.

Again paying their companions no mind, Vistri and Astarion remained locked in a stare. Sharing a paradox, their look was as intense as it was casual. It said, I’ll eat you up, as much as it whispered, Hey there.

“Make room for me,” Shadowheart demanded from above, standing over them with a bowl of stew in hand. She placed her spoon between her teeth, waiting for them to scoot over.

They moved to the side, so she could come sit in the middle.

“Thank you,” Shadowheart said, taking her place. They all worked together to adjust the too-small blanket across them. Once they were comfortable, she turned to Vistri, “Heard you fell out there.”

“She did!” Karlach answered before anyone else could.

Shadowheart pretended to be shocked, “And to think she insisted on leaving the cleric back at camp!”

“Fangs was there though. Quick responder, that one was.”

Shadowheart turned to him, teasing, “Are you blushing, Asti?”

“No,” he scoffed, “Vampires don’t blush!”

Everyone could see that he was contradicting his point.

Vistri mischievously chimed in with, “Yes, they do.”

Karlach and Shadowheart burst into laughter.

“Yes, yes! It was very dashing of me to save you!” Astarion rolled his eyes, “Want me to regret it?”

“You know,” Gale started, “It is a quite common misconception that vampires don’t blush. Cursed undead they may be, but!” His finger shot up on the word, but, “They still have all the same systems they had when they were alive. How they work though, now that’s the tricky part of it all. Because it’s different per classification of vampi—”

“Gale!” Astarion interrupted.

“What?”

“You’re not helping me, my friend.”

“Ah, right.”

Vistri found his irritation too delicious to drop, “Blood rushes to other places of yours, darling. Why not your face?”

Astarion leapt across Shadowheart to tickle her in payback. Shrieking, Vistri wiggled away from his reaching hands. Stuck in the midst of their struggle, Shadow’s bowl got knocked to the ground.

“Children!” she shouted in grief over her spilled stew.

Gale sighed, standing up, “I was getting seconds anyway.”

“Oh no! Shadow! Your stew!” Vistri gripped apologetically.

“Yes, Vistri! My stew! Your antics murdered my stew!”

“I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t upset her,” Astarion scolded, “She almost died today!”

Everyone paused to stare at him, startled by his voracious outburst. His tone came out of an aching heart, and there was a sorrowful tremor to it. Vistri was shaken by his sincerity; Shadowheart by his audacity. The others were just vaguely thrown by his display of giving a shit about anybody who wasn’t himself.

He cleared his throat in embarrassment.

“I’m fine,” Vistri insisted to throw the focus off him.

Pretending he was totally cool this whole time, Astarion smirked, “I made sure of that.”

She scratched her nose to hide her smile behind her palm. It wasn’t right that everyone got to stand there and watch them have feelings.

Shadowheart, still trapped between them, had suffered enough, “I’ll just go catch up to Gale.”

“Really now! That’s not necessary!” Vistri protested.

“Yes, it is,” Astarion said, grabbing her close as their friend vacated the space between them. With his arms around her waist, he covered her cheeks in a series of pecks.

She squealed delightedly, “Get off! I’ll drop mine too!”

“Balance, dear. You’ve got this.”

“No,” she shook her head laughing, “No, I don’t!”

“Fine,” he let go of her.

She leaned against him, and he threw an arm around her shoulders. Vistri loved the relaxed weight of it. The pressure on her shoulders seemed to calm her, and his warmth, the magic of how he always felt—Against his chest, under his arm, nestled against him—

“What are you smirking about?”

“Hu-What?”

“You’re thinking about something, I can see it, but I can’t hear it. Care to tune me in?”

She really, really didn’t.

“Maybe I was thinking about you,” she smirked.

“Hah!” he tossed his head back, “Good one.”

It was a tried-and-true trick of hers. Wave a secret in people’s faces, and they go searching for anything but that. She silently congratulated herself.

Vistri attempted to sound cheekier than relieved or self-satisfied, “Hah, indeed!”

“Say you were thinking about yours truly…”

FUCK!

“What would you be thinking about?”

Arsehole!

Vistri made a show of pretending to think really hard about it, to buy herself some time to think of a way around it, “Hmmmmm…”

Astarion, just trying to make a bit of a game, helped her out, “Could it be my�� mesmerizing stare?”

Hoping to distract him, Vistri tackled his lips.

He chuckled as she broke their kiss, “You taste like fish stew.”

“I hate you!” Vistri shrieked happily, slapping his arm.

Even with that scowl on her face, she leaned into him just as before. Nobody really bothered them, so they just sat there as she ate, staring distantly at the fire. They spent the rest of the evening (if it was really evening) like that, peacefully snuggled until it was time to wash up.

Because of his scars, Astarion preferred to bathe alone. Once Vistri learned about them, however, he altered his habits to allow for one companion.

Alone in the shallows of the shadowed riverbank, his heart ached on his lips and found hers. Moaning, groaning, teeth, and tongue.

It was, take me and you’re mine. It was life again after centuries of destitution.

“Fuck,” Vistri muttered as he pulled away.

Astarion’s eyes were serious, “Do you desire me?”

“Yes,” she stated it so vehemently, it was half a laugh. She gave a serene sigh as he cradled her chin.

“And what do you particularly desire?”

To be loved by him across centuries. To never want or need anything else ever again because together they’d be whole. They’d keep each other safe from the world, and the world safe from them.

“I want you to take and take until there’s nothing left of me.”

“All of it?”

“All of it.”

He shook his head slowly, “I’d like to leave a little something for later, if it’s all the same to you.”

She moaned as he kissed her again. His hands traveled from her waist to her thighs.

“I’m hungry,” he growled. Nestling the bridge of his nose into the crook of her throat, Astarion could already feel the warmth of her blood on his tongue in anticipation. He reached out for her skin, tasting her on the tip of it.

On the side with her tattoo, that blue rose.

“Darling, have I ever mentioned how much I love this?”

It set her trembling in his arms. It wasn’t just his touch, and gods, was his touch… Vistri shivered. Astarion’s tongue reached out and kissed her skin. His warm breath melted her like chocolate over a raging fire pit.

And his words rang in her ears, bouncing around between layers of consciousness, “... how much I love this…”

This dhamphir was in her head. Louder than the other screams.

“... lovely blue rose…” he muttered, referring to her tattoo as he kissed it.

She could feel his tongue tracing it. Lingering over every line. He first kissed the petals. Licked along them like a painter, bringing their design into existence with his warm, wet strokes; Vistri his groaning canvas.

And it was torture for him too, to linger on her neck like this. His fangs ached for a taste of her beating heart. Drowning under Vistri’s spell, he longed to sup on her lifeblood like it was coming up for water. Astarion refused his reflex to indulge, burying her groans under his.

With his hands snaking up her back, Vistri sighed, surrendering herself to his embrace. Throwing her head back in delight, exposing her neck, she called out his name, “Astarion.”

He kissed her throat. The side of her neck.

Vistri begged, “Bite me.”

“Let me ask you this,” he said, just to linger there a little further, “A riddle.”

She whined, just slightly, under the spell of his torturous anticipation. It made his smile wider.

“What is it that every rose has?” His voice broke directly over the one inked on her neck.

“I don’t know,” she murmured thickly, guessing, “Thorns?”

“Yes,” he moaned, eliciting a moan from her in response. Clinging to his body, shivering. He had Vistri exactly where he wanted her.

He wanted her.

“I think yours is missing a few. Would you like me to add them?”

Throwing back her neck a little further, stretching it as far as it would go, she echoed, “Yes.”

He knew he could fuck her, right there and now. Vistri gave herself completely.

In whatever way he wanted.

Tracing down the stem, licking every line of leaf, just as he’d done with the petals, Astarion worked at making their longing worse; determined to drive them both to madness.

He swallowed, and licked his lips. Aligning his mouth along the stem, he dragged his fangs across her goosebumps so they sat in place. Then he sank himself into her, drinking down the trickles of her heart’s river.

His bite left two weeping crimson thorns along the rose’s stem.

“Shall I add more?”

Vistri shook her head, “I think we should get back to your tent as soon as possible.”

Squealing with poorly withheld laughter, they rushed out of the shallows, their movements slowed through water’s thickness.

Approaching the shore, they were almost shoulder-to-shoulder, with Astarion a bit ahead. He cheated anyway, despite already winning. As his knees broke the surface of the bank, he gave her a playful shove backwards.

“Bastard!” she shouted, and it was met with a high trill of laughter from Astarion, who was halfway across camp by the time she made up the stolen distance.

He took one look back to catch her delicious frustration, then closed in on his target. Breathlessly, he yanked open the tent flap.

She was sitting right there.

“Misty Stepping is cheating!”

“Shoving me backwards is cheating!”

Growling, he tackled her. They laughed as they rolled, still naked and dripping, over his tattered blankets.

For some reason, Astarion’s mind superimposed the brightness of her current expression with the shocked stillness of earlier this evening. It sunk all his features and dulled the sensation of power he’d just drank from her.

“Astarion?”

He smoothed the hair off her forehead with two damp palms. It looked like he was about to say something important.

Then he kissed her. Diving ungracefully forward, catching his lip on her tooth. But he didn’t care, and righted his mouth between hers without further thought, with the same intensity.

How fragile life was. It was easy to forget that after two hundred years of wishing to be rid of it.

It took just a slight tap of his thighs to spread hers wide apart for him. He reached down to drag a nail slowly up the inside of her legs. They obeyed his every touch, belonging to him.

“Fuck me and have another bite,” she offered, grinding against him.

Who was he to argue with that?

His hand clamped over her mouth as she cried out. Its sound broke muffled by his fingers. In almost the same movement, Astarion turned her head to the side and gave her rose another pair of thorns.

Vistri licked and sucked the fingers held against her lips as he drank her down. Her head grew lighter as his thrusts grew rougher. Until the sensations made her eyes roll back in her head. Until his sides were red and raw from her grasping scratches.

I love you, rang so loudly across her consciousness that it whispered into his. Too many feelings, guilt and a long-dead dream among them, stirred up from the dust of his heart for Astarion to pay it any attention. Instead, he sharpened his focus on the familiar rolling of their hips.

More of her blood would stain his blankets, but they didn’t care. Her neck dripped past their notice, leaking down the side of her rose and pooling behind her.

Astarion just wanted to take what he didn’t lose.

“Cum for me again, pet.”

Like a spell’s evocation, his words had a physical effect. Vistri started pulsing around him, clenching her legs around his waist in a vice grip.

“Shit!” he sputtered. His control ran away with hers. The push and pull of his hips started to slow, lazy with pleasure as he spilled into her.

Locked in their embrace, they both shook from a mighty force, like blades of grass trembling in a rough breeze.

Coming back to reality, they looked around at everything but each other.

“Are you all right?” Astarion remembered to ask.

She was grinning stupidly, “Great.”

He smiled back until he noticed the mess.

“You’re like a leaky peach!” he scolded her in concern. Haphazardly, he grabbed the nearest sufficient bandage, and pressed a stained, silk pillow to her fresh wounds.

“Don’t fret,” she insisted, “I just need a bit of wine.”

Halsin fussed at him about that a few days ago, but what did the wood elf know about that anyway? A druid too? Health freaks, the lot of them! Halsin be damned, wine was good for anything! Astarion turned hurriedly to fulfill her request, grabbing a nearby bottle.

“Thank you,” she said after he popped the cork and passed it to her. She took a deep sip.

“Better?”

Vistri still felt rather dizzy but nodded anyway, hoping to ease his concern. Then, suddenly struck by an idea, she adopted a playful tone, “Although…”

“What is it?” he asked, eager to make her more comfortable.

“I could be better,” she smirked.

Astarion was happy to play her game, but a bit confused about where she was going with it. Vistri seemed satisfied enough, even though they’d been a bit brief tonight. She frowned, and he tried so hard to read it. Her pout was teasing, but not in a heated way. Her relaxed eyes were dreamy with affection and twinkled with fey-like mischief.

“I don’t know what it is, but I’m missing something.”

“Oh?”

“Hmmm, maybe if you moved a bit to the side?”

His version of “a bit” was a very conservative estimate. Vistri frowned. So Astarion inched just the same but in the other direction.

“No! The other—That’s it,” she directed, “A bit more. No, more.”

Scooting closer and closer at Vistri’s behest, Astarion was eventually pressed up against her side.

“Better?” he asked, grinning with amusement. Still wondering about her intentions.

“Yes, but not quite… Better, but I could be better.”

“Well, we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

“Please! Now, lift up your arm.”

“Like this?”

“Yes, but stop making that face.”

“What face?”

She chuckled, “I don’t know, whatever that face was you were just pulling.”

“I was not pulling a face!”

“You were! Now shush and lift your arm back up!”

Vistri did the same thing, beckoning Astarion to move further and further into a position she had in mind. Pretending it wasn’t quite right and adjusting him until it was.

Until he held her tight, his arms around her shoulders.

“Better now?” he whispered.

“Better now,” she said. But her words caught in her throat, and she coughed at the end of them.

“You okay?”

“Throat’s just dry,” she nodded, sitting up, “Pass me the wine again, love.”

“You have it next to you.”

“Right.”

He took a swig after her, and they both settled back into their cuddle.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked.

Vistri nodded. She wrapped her arms around his, pulling him tighter and sighed, “I feel better now.”

This time, they let the moment sit for a while. At least until it was too painful.

“I know your secret,” Astarion whispered naughtily against her shoulders.

She panicked, wondering what manner of secret he knew.

He giggled before he got his words out, “You farted on the way over.”

Blushing and laughing at the same time, Vistri struggled in his arms, shrieking, “You liar! I did not!”

The more she struggled, the firmer he held his grasp, “Yes, you did.”

“No!” she gasped, kicking at the air, “I did not!”

Even his tone was smirking as he teased, “A little toot by my ear.”

“I hate you!”

Astarion ceased his own laughter to plant kisses along her spine, on the back of her neck. Enough of them stilled her. Instead of fighting, she melted into him.

“Do you hate me now?”

“No.”

“Good,” he said. Then he took a risk, “Because I don’t hate you either.”

His words gave her wings, but she ripped them right off.

“You should.”

“Yeah, well… That goes both ways. Next time you run into a vampire, hate it for your own sake.”

Vistri chuckled, “That goes both ways too! Next time you camp with someone who dismembers a bard, run!”

They giggled. Then silence took over again, neither knowing what to do when they weren’t fucking or killing anything.

Speaking about nothing was more bearable than anything else. So they traded mindlessness back and forth. It looked like a conversation, but nothing was said. But speaking just to speak, they were discovering, was its very own thing.

His head nestled against hers, Astarion began casually nibbling on her earrings as she droned on and on about the creepy shadows. He closed his eyes, savoring the sound of her voice, not really listening. He was at peace, and so was Vistri, with the white rabbit on her shoulder nibbling away at her ear.

The gentle pressure calmed her. Vistri hadn’t ever felt anything like it. Eventually, she liked it too much to speak.

Focusing on the sensations of each other turned into its own type of meditation, which eventually faded into proper trance. Not a typical reverie or void, they recovered from the day within that awareness of one another.

Astarion existed through the slight breakage of breath across his wrist.

Vistri was the cursed heartbeat at her back.

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

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