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atsadi-shenanigans · 4 months

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Feeding Alligators 20 - The American Red Cross Association

You're a blood donor!

Rated M for language, violence, and now vampire shenanigans.

On AO3.

There’s no donation chair, obviously. No medical gurney. Your choices are dirt, or your bedroll placed on the dirt. At least the bedroll is close to the fire (and the others, should your atrophied sense of self-preservation decide to wake up).

Astarion tags after you. Waits as you sit and reach for your pack. Shifts almost awkwardly, and keeps glancing from your hands, along your arms, to stare at your neck before, you assume, catching himself and starting that process over. Now that he’s illuminated—and you’re not so groggy—you spot the changes in his body movement. How still he is, except for a barely discernible shiver now and then. He swallows a couple of times, and at first you think it’s nerves, until you catch a flicker of pink tongue between his lips and realize he’s trying to hide how badly he’s salivating.

That’s…you have to turn away from that. Your body has a very weird and off-putting reaction, all flushed terror and all.

“Here we are,” you say. You found the bandits’ food store after the party slaughtered all of them. Most of it went to the camp rations, but each of you got an iced bun. Gale already ate his with no ill effects, but you saved yours to go with breakfast. Your waterskin is maybe half full—you frown at that—and set it next to your bedroll.

“Something wrong?” Astarion says.

“I get all demon thirsty when I donate blood,” you say and uncork the thing to down several gulps. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and look up. Find the man absolutely bewildered.

“It’s for medical purposes,” you say. “People volunteer their blood, and it gets cleaned up and stored in hospitals and stuff. That way, if someone needs a transfusion—did that translate right? If someone loses too much blood, they can give them some of the donated stuff so they don’t, you know, die.”

“Oh. That sounds…altruistic.” You’d never known someone could make that word sound like a negative. “And you’re one of those…volunteers? Why? What do you get out of it?”

You’ve got your stuff staged and within arm’s reach. Satisfied, you turn back to him.

“Cause I got plenty and my body makes more. They also give you cookies afterward. So how do we do this? I got a good vein in my left arm, in the elbow that they always really like?”

He looks at your offered arm. Resettles himself and motions for you to lie down. Which you do. He takes a knee next to you and you try hard not to think about how vulnerable you are. Some vampire elf man kneeling over you, flat on your damn back.

One of the charcoaled logs collapses into the bed of embers. A soft flash washes over the two of you. In that light, his eyelids lower and he goes all smug and smarmy.

“I think the classic method might be best,” he says.

And that takes you longer than it should. Because you’re used to the cold swab of alcohol in the crook of your elbow. The tight band wrapped around your bicep. Looking away as the tech slides in the needle.

He’s a vampire. They, classically, bite necks. Which yeah, not fun to think about. But it’s the mouth part that trips your pulse and makes it stumble over itself. Somehow, you did not consider that part. To make you bleed, he will bite you. With his teeth. In his fucking mouth. Which means his mouth is going to be at your fucking neck.

“Oh,” you say and want to kick your own ass at how small that comes out. Especially when that fucking goblin grin ticks up on one side of his lips. His lips that will be on your neck. You clear your throat. “I mean, if that’s the best way. Uh. Go for it.”

He dips his head in a bow and his left hand comes to rest just above your right shoulder. Which means he’s reaching across you (flat on your damn back, belly exposed). He leans across you and he is all up in your personal space and you are suddenly, viscerally aware of that. People don’t get close to you (except for Uncle Randy and Sasha and her boyfriend). You don’t get close to people. You’re the one that stands back and waves when Debbie or Jeff leave the office for retirement or transfer, when they all hug each other goodbye. You haven’t held so much as a squirming baby in over a decade.

And his face is going to touch you. His fucking hand comes up, under your chin to tilt your head to your left, looking away from the fire, leaving your neck bare and so horribly exposed to teeth but also his goddamn lips.

You didn’t think this part through, is what you didn’t do. Look at you, getting necked before you’ve ever been kissed. That has to be some kind of achievement, right?

“Easy, darling,” Astarion murmurs and he’s so goddamn close to you you can actually feel his voice.

Your heartbeat ratchets up. Blood pressure probably on the verge of splitting an artery somewhere. You flex your fingers (and toes) and nod.

“Sorry,” you say.

“It’s alright. Are you this nervous when you donate your blood to others?”

Again with that sneer. He’s got you turned away; all you see above his chest is the poof of his hair out of the corner of your eye, “They don’t take it out with their mouth.”

He leans in. You expect to feel a wash of heat, but there is none. Undead. He’s ambient room temperature. But there’s still a presence there. Something solid moving over you, a strange charge in the air you’ve never felt before.

He hums and that soft exhale tickles your ear because he’s right there. “So it’s my mouth that has you shivering, is it?”

For fuck’s—

“Just fucking bite me,” you say.

You’re pretty sure he smiles. Smug bastard.

Then he lunges. It reminds you of a snake strike. Utter calm to piercing pain and you gasp despite yourself. You’ve known pain, before. Gut cramps, menstrual cramps, switch welts. None of them are teeth in your flesh.

It shocks you. Your body seizes up as a sharp, freezing pain stabs the side of your neck. Almost as quick, it fades to throbbing, and then into a gentle numbness.

Analgesic spit, you think. Neat.

The bite itself distracts you for a long minute. You try not to think of fangs in your flesh. Hard teeth digging through skin and muscle and vein. Then Astarion shifts and through the numb, something moves against your skin. Something…wet? Strong, but not hard—

His tongue. The man is licking your goddamn neck.

Just as that registers, Astarion outright groans against you. Your cheeks light themselves on fire. The sound shivers against your skin and his voice vibrates up your throat. The hand not holding him up slips behind your head—fingers gliding along your scalp and lifting goosebumps in a sweep from crown to toes—to cradle the back of your skull and hold you to him.

You bite back the squeak. Hold as still as you can.

His lips are cool and soft. Slurping echoes loud in your ear, mixed with small noises he makes and his cool breath ruffles the short hairs on the nape of your neck.

You squeeze your eyes shut. It’s a blood donation. Just a procedure. You’ve done this many times before. Except this one has a grown man humming and…sweet jesus, he’s moaning. Not audible, exactly. You feel more than hear it.

So far, he’s been lapping at you. His own throat bobs as he swallows (holy fuck he’s close enough for you to notice that and you don’t even have any space because he’s taking it all and his chest brushes yours where the fuck are his legs). But then his voice changes pitch. Then he sucks.

That hurts. Sharp, burning pain lights up the side of your face. You can’t stop your own whimper, or the way you grab a handful—with just your fingertips because more means touching him more—of his shirt.

But that only seems to egg him on. He sucks again. His weight drops onto you holy fucking shit, and the hand supporting him wraps around your shoulders in some fucked up hug. All of it to pull you close. Every alarm left in your brain goes off all at once. Your deep, deep primate brain has memories to recognize a predator securing its prey.

“Astarion,” you say.

He doesn’t answer.

“Astarion, that’s enough.”

Still no answer.

Your head’s going foggy. You never noticed any ill effects during any previous donation—all that comes when people sit up or stand or try to walk over to the cookies table. But you are, and you’re lying down. You know that is a very, very bad sign.

Your arm is heavy when you lift it. You push through—limb shaking—to tap his shoulder. Probably harder than you mean to. But it’s enough to jolt him. His lips break their seal and hot liquid dribbles down the back of your shoulder.

“Mmm?” he says. Then he takes a sharp breath. “Oh. Of course.”

He lifts up immediately. The action only partially soothes you. The majority of your emotional system is still screaming at your vulnerability, at how shaky and light-headed you are, at how goddamn close he still is to you.

You do your best to show none of this as he rolls back and to his feet. It’s a smooth motion, lighter than you’ve seen from him. He’s grinning, a trickle of your blood running down the side of his chin. He touches it with his fingertips, brings them up to suck them clean.

“That…that was amazing,” he says. Dude’s panting like he was the one who got drained half to death.

You don’t dare sit up. You roll to your side to grab your provisions, uncork the waterskin, and slam down as much as you can before your lungs start to protest. You wish it was juice. Your stomach trembles, all queasy.

Astarion’s entire posture is different. He holds himself taller, frame wider somehow. His eyes are even brighter. “My mind feels clear. I feel strong. I feel…”

The next part seems to baffle him. You rip off a piece of the iced bun and slip that into your mouth. You chew slow and careful to make sure your stomach will take it. You’re ripping off another piece before you even swallow.

“I feel happy,” Astarion says. And maybe it’s your imagination, but the last word there sounds tinged in what you might almost call wonder. Even his grin has changed—showing off those fangs you honestly should have noticed sooner.

“You get enough?” you say. He’d better say yes, because you don’t got no more to give for a while. Half the roll is gone, and your stomach seems content to hold it. The thirst taps your shoulder and then screams into your ear. You down more water.

“Quite enough, darling. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He dips into a fancy bow. “You’ve been invigorating, but I need something more filling.”

“Gonna find you a nice, big deer?”

“Indeed. You know, you’re taking this all rather better than I expected.”

The last thing you saw with a vampire in it was that show where they were all sad and hilarious roommates. You’re operating on an entirely different cultural level with zero context towards how him or vampires should exist in this world. Hell, there’s a lot of people of all genders on Earth who’d be down on their knees for him right now.

You don’t tell him that, obviously. You’re not giving him any more ammunition against your ignorance on this matter.

“Just hope it helps you for tomorrow,” you say.

His grin pulls itself back down into the one you’re more familiar with. The one you’re pretty sure now is his version of the “sexy bad man vampire” he’s so keen to wear.

“Well,” he says. “I will aim to please, should we encounter anyone in need of a killing. Sleep well, darling.”

He saunters off towards the trees. A ghost in white disappearing into the dark. On the very edge of your vision, damn near swallowed by the gloom, he pauses. Looks back. His voice is soft and low. “This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

Then he’s gone. Off to hunt something he can actually drain like a capri-sun.

You roll back over and your neck twinges. Fuck. Forgot about cleanup—no phlebotomist with a teeny square of gauze and a stretchy wrap bandage. You don’t have any sterile bandages at all. Damnit. You really fucked this up.

You pull out one of the bloodstained shirts from your pack. One of the less stained ones. Manage to rip off an unbloodied sleeve and press that to the wound. You’re drinking a healing potion first thing. And then keeping an eye on that shit. First sign of infection, and you’re talking to Shadowheart (got hurt during one of the fights; didn’t notice until later and didn’t want to bother you, so sorry, very silly of me).

You tentatively feel the puncture wounds through the cloth. They’re larger than you expected. And very quickly, you feel wet heat soaking through.

Fucker is still bleeding like a stuck pig. You refold the gross, makeshift bandage, press down harder.

Anticoagulant spit, probably. Makes sense; mosquitoes and leeches have that.

You take a swig of water and pop another piece of iced bun into your mouth. It’d be easier to put pressure on that wound if you were lying down. But then your head is swimming and you’re really very tired. Your bedroll is comfortable. Rolling onto your side (so the wound is elevated; you aren’t a total moron!) and you sigh and it all feels so nice, so gentle, you should probably swallow that food in your mouth, should….

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #fanfic #astarion #astarion x tav #it's a goddamn isekai #i'm not sorry #no betas we die like men #feeding alligators fic #tavstarion #slow burn #vampire shenanigans #biting

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