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It was nearing two in the morning and Astarion was in the Elfsong tavern, a middlingly handsome tiefling sat across from him tucking into his fourth serving of firewine. The hours were beginning to itch against the spawn’s neck. How many hours til dawn? And how many nights had he done this song and dance with this one? Certainly more than the others. More than usual to get a man to follow him up those rampart steps, tail wagging like the innocent little lambs they were. But this one, Theus, had been playing hard to get.
Any other mark in any other year would have been cut loose by now. Do not raise suspicion with your appearance, do not allow yourself to be known . But Cazador had been in a state, wallpaper shredded from the halls, servants scrubbing blood from the good rug, the screeching tirade had gone on for days without rest. Violet, Petras and Yousen were still behind the wall, their screams were still echoing in his head.
He shouldn’t be here, sitting with a goblet of stale wine undrank in his hand as if he were a person. The warbling strings of the tiring bard covered the echoing cries in his skull. He shouldn’t be here, he should be in the kennel with them, why wasn’t he?
No one else would be bringing Cazador a victim tonight. They had all been failing and the cuts would be deeper the longer it went. The scratching, draining ache in all their bodies would continue until they were worthless to their master for anything than the steady drip of their blood on stone.
How many days had he wasted on Theus? It was so difficult to keep track of the man’s prattling inane chatter, his mouth yawning on and on.
“-sent me a letter, you know.” Theus was talking around the wine in his mouth. His cheeks were flush, he was warm as a fire. “They expected me back by now, said if I can’t make something of myself after this long then I’m better off back on the farm with my brothers.”
Right. It was so hard to focus. When was the last time he had fed? Dogs feed after their betters . He swore he could hear the rats scurrying in the walls. He watched the gentle lash of Theus’ throat as he swallowed down the wine like it was water.
Thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.
“How considerate of them,” Astarion closed those thoughts off. He didn’t need them. “I suppose if-” Think, Astarion, what in the hells was Theus trying to- “sculpting doesn’t work for you, you’ll have a bright future shoveling manure til your back gives out.”
He smiled. Or at least, he thought he did. His lips were entirely too tight, but he couldn’t trust himself to not show his withering fangs when he was this weak.
Theus, thank gods, laughed.
“If only shoveling shit was the worst of it,” Theus’ face screwed up, eyes misty. “My father’s a miserable bastard. Takes it out on me and my brothers all the time, always has. He… Ah. But you don’t want to hear any of this. Me and my sob stories!”
The tiefling looked mournfully down into his goblet, as if the reflection on its surface could comfort him.
No, that was what Astarion was supposed to do. This was an opening, he had to snatch it.
“Oh please,” He leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes lid. “You don’t think you’re the first man to trot into Baldur’s Gate dragging your baggage through the streets behind you, do you darling? Having a bastard to outlive and get the better of is the only motivation men like us need to get what we want.”
Poison welled in Astarion’s gut, rotting where he ached hollow and starving. He hoped he didn’t sound pitiful, pathetic, weak as the day you crawled out from the dirt .
Theus laughed but the sound of it was dry, his face tense as he averted his gaze. It was too much, Astarion was too aggressive, he had gone off script. He had tried to end his selfish little remark with an easy bit of bait, what we want . Theus was supposed to think of what he wanted. He was supposed to look at Astarion and decide he wanted him.
“Astarion, you’re quite cold aren’t you?” His tone was fond , bewildered perhaps, but not turned off yet. Astarion could work with that. “You’re always quick with your wit, but… Well.” He straightened, Astarion mirrored. “Who is your bastard then? You sound like you have experience.”
No. Wrong. The conversation went in the wrong direction. Astarion’s skin crawled, the drag of a thousand nails up his arms and down his ribs. His insides were alight, fire crackling out the withered and cold insides that had been dead for the better part of a century. Then sharp once more, as if Cazador’s eyes were burrowing into him from every angle.
He took a quick breath. You have no idea, I imagine your father never strapped you down and peeled your skin away from your flesh because you forgot to smile. How bad could it have been, Theus? What have you lost? What could your father take from you that would come even an inch to what was taken from me?
Astarion smiled, “Oh I have all sorts of experience,” He leaned back to the table, made eye contact, let his bare wrist show. Spread his legs where he sat. “With all sorts of bastards and scoundrels. Not enough experience with farm hands that ran away from their disapproving fathers to become sculptors, though.”
Theus smiled uneasily. No, not uneasily, it was shy, bashful. Good.
Bring them to the guest room, use what little charm you have, sweeten them. Pretend you’re more than a whore, do not bring me men so desperate they would bed the first pretty elf to spread their legs.
“You could use a little more experience,” Astarion tilted his head, letting a few loose strands of his bone white hair fall over his eyes. His neck barred, the unmarked side, hoping the tiefling would imagine the dark bruises his lips could make there. “I think you want that, Theus, get your mind off all this. I could pose for you, let you….”
His voice trailed off, every word carefully enunciated to be as full and intoxicating as the wine clouding Theus’ mind. I’ll let you touch me, you just have to climb up the steps first, before the dawn colors the sky. Please, you can do whatever you want, so long as you get to the guest room. It won’t take long. Please. I need the screaming to stop.
Theus leaned across the ale-damp table, clumsy hands gripping Astarion’s padded doublet as he pressed in for a kiss. His lips were lined with wine and Astarion’s empty stomach turned. He kissed him back, remembering that Theus liked when he took charge. He was young and inexperienced, under the impression that Astarion was established and refined. He had to give him the fantasy.
The man’s tongue pushed into Astarion’s mouth when he neglected to. Warm flesh ran against his teeth and it was as if Astarion could feel the twisted need within him drip from his brain coldly through his spine.
Thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.
Astarion hummed into Theus’ mouth, his hands found the man’s rumpled shirt collar and yanked him back.
“Oh love,” The words tasted like ash but still he licked his lips, “You’re completely hopeless, aren’t you? You expect me to bed you here? Not exactly the audience I would prefer for when we finally-”
“Can get a room.” Theus spoke in a single gasp, lips puckering open as he pushed back in to Astarion’s mouth again.
He tasted even stronger of wine on the second kiss.
“Aha, no, you’ll not get me into a scandal like that.” Astarion stood, dragging Theus up with him on unsteady feet. “Come to bed, Theus, you want to. You want me. Don’t you?”
Astarion’s grip on Theus’ shirt was too tight, his smile too forced, his words lost their charm and became begging, that’s the only thing you’re good at, boy.
"I want you," Theus echoed, eyes hazy. "Do you want me?"
Astarion's lips pulled into a dagger sharp smile, "More than you know."
Theus was unsteady on his feet but no one in the tavern thought anything of a young drunk man being led off into the night. What was the Elfsong past midnight but a place for lonely people to find another to indulge in?
The night air was brisk, a touch damp as the fog from the river came prowling up to meet them. Astarion thought of the red mist, the one that pressed hot and damp to his limbs and choked his breath. What if his master was watching, waiting.
"Astarion…" Theus stumbled. Drunk. Too drunk. He would never climb all the stairs if the loose cobble between the tavern and the ramparts was too much for him.
Cazador hated when they brought him drunk marks. Most of the ones Astarion brought had been plied with liquor, skin warm and cheeks pink, but more than that and Cazador’s lips would curl. Unbefitting for a vampire to feed on men poisoned out of their minds. Astarion wondered, ever so distantly, if the drink got into the veins. If red wine pumped in place of their blood, foul and sour and curdling under the reek of iron. He smiled to spite himself.
Theus leaned against a wall, legs loose and horns scraping ungracefully as he gripped Astarion for support. Perhaps Cazador would feel merciful tonight. The last time he had deemed a mark too thickened with wine he stood in the shadows of the guest room, eyes sharp while he watched the drunk brute violate Astarion further and further. Never stepped in, just hummed commands only Astarion could hear. Bend deeper, that’s it. You can take him for hours, you were made for this, boy. Submit, submit, consider this a lesson.
Cazador had let the man sleep off his violent, drunken stupor before taking his victim. His clawed fingers tracing the bruises and tears in Astarion’s parchment skin, tangled in the ruined sheets while they waited for the mortal to stir.
“You look beautiful,” Theus slurred, his eyes unfocused as he gazed up at Astarion. “It’s like you’re glowing. Blessed by Selune.”
He pressed in for another kiss and Astarion let him. Wet and unpleasant, a scrape of his blunt teeth over trembling lips. Astarion wrapped his arms around the drunk young man and steadied him, letting his hands flatten and wander to his hips to remind him of his purpose.
“Mustn’t lay here, darling,” Astarion hissed through his teeth. Theus’ hands roamed, gripping at Astarion’s waist for more than balance. “It would be a shame if you had to go back, tail between your legs, because of an indecent exposure charge.”
Theus laughed against Astarion’s mouth, standing as if the alley were a galleon wrecked by a storm, “You’re the indecent one,” His hands gripped, reaching, Astarion wondered if he would bruise. “Every night! Every night you want me to come home with you! I can’t be the only one you’re bedding.”
Astarion seethed through his clenched teeth. Theus was too heavy to drag up the stairs and into the palace like this. It was a feat Astarion could manage if he wasn’t starving and trembling under his own weight, he had dragged a limp warm body up every stair before. There wasn’t a hint of urgency in Theus, even as his blood gathered between his legs. Just his luck that the tiefling would try and fondle him in the alley again .
Astarion forced his anger out in a winding sigh, “Don’t tell me you’re the jealous type, Theus,” He gripped Theus by his belt, righting him and attempting to gauge how many steps he could take before he fell. “There is more than enough of me to go around, you’ll see.”
“Please,” Theus pressed his body into Astarion’s. He was warm, impossibly so, his breath molten over Astarion’s neck. “I can’t wait. Please.”
Not here . Not again, you pathetic whelp. I have given you so much and you have wasted my night again. Nothing more than an over-fed steer unable to hobble to the abattoir. Don’t you understand? If he cannot butcher you, there is only one other to take that place.
Theus’ hands were between Astarion’s legs, fumbling and pressing against his leathers. Astarion bit down his disgust and frustration, twisted the feeling down into a tight, tangled coil and locked it away. The man was only acting on what Astarion was offering him, as always, he couldn’t rescind the invitation now. He had to just realign himself, if Theus was this eager there was no reason he couldn’t bait him up at least some of the steps.
“So impatient,” Astarion tsked, clamping his hands around Theus’ wrists and wrenching them back to his waist. “Wouldn’t you rather bed me properly ? Not that I don’t adore your clever little fingers, darling, but…”
Astarion took the lead. The way he was supposed to, the way he knew Theus wanted him. Discover your mark’s desire, embody it, and if that proves too difficult for you to comprehend then take the matter into your own hands. Astarion reached under the loose, untucked hem of Theus’ shirt and stroked the outline of his hard cock. The tiefling shuddered around him.
“I know what we both want,” Astarion held him fast, pressed close and whispered the words straight into Theus’ panting mouth. Their eyes locked and Astarion poured every remaining, curdled and poisoned drop of sensuality he could wring from his deadened body. “I have a warm room, a clean bed, bottles of wine and all the time in the world. You can have me there, Theus, it’s about time you fucked a man in his bed.”
It wasn’t his bed he was trying to lead Theus to. Gods knew it wasn’t. He would be lucky if he would be granted rest at all in the coming weeks. Surely what was waiting for him was one of the rotting old bed rolls in the kennel, the only rest would be the fleeting moments of mercy when his body took him under to protect him from the worst of it.
“Astarion,” The word was slurred on Theus’ tongue, hungry. Astarion smiled and let an inviting little sing-song of a chuckle meet him. “Fuck. I want to burrow into you.”
Astarion gripped the man’s cock once more before holding him by belt and collar, using all the strength he had left in him to keep the drunk tiefling from tumbling face first into the alley. There was a prickling down the back of his neck, as if he was being watched I am always watching and he let his eyes dart up to the shadow that laid over them.
Cazador’s palace perched on the hilltop over him like a panther, eyes flashing as it gathered itself up to pounce upon him. The walls and spires of it were blacker than the night, a silhouette against a moonlit sky. Astarion could believe he could see his master’s eyes in one of the curtained windows, sneering, disappointed even as Astarion slowly led his victim into his clutches.
Astarion was little more than a wriggling ant, attempting to drag a succulent morsel up a mountain to satiate his king. He was small, and he was incapable.
“Yes, sweetness,” Astarion wretched himself back into his body as he pried the tiefling towards the first tower, one unsteady step at a time. “I want you too, I want you to ravage me. It's just up a little further.”
They arrived at the first stair, blanketed so deeply in shadow Astarion was sure his glowering eyes were the only light. He hoped Theus was too far gone in his charms to notice. And, well, it seemed he was. Theus was kissing Astarion again, hands tight on him as he led him to the nearest wall. Stumbling as if all of the lower city fell on its axis. Cold stone pressed against them like a third lover, biting into Astarion’s elbows as he pushed the tiefling off again.
“Aren’t you the despicable little beast, Theus, can’t keep it in your trousers can you? Only need to climb the stairs and I’ll ride you like the unbroken colt you are.” Astarion fought against pleading . You sound so beautiful. Theus growled and latched back onto Astarion’s mouth, as if to shut him up, perhaps Astarion had read the tiefling wrong. He didn’t want to be led, he wanted to devour .
Well. It is a shame your blood runs cold and dead, boy, you were such a delicious morsel. Your life danced on my tongue so sweetly. You disappoint me, Astarion, you could have been great and yet your greatest achievement was having what was left of you devoured by me.
“I want you, more than I have ever wanted someone…” Theus’ eyes were unfocused and Astarion wondered who exactly he thought he was looking at. It couldn’t be him. “I could fuck you for days.”
“What happened to the shy little country boy? The sensitive little artist?” Astarion teased, nails raking over Theus’ skin as he took his shirt collar into white-knuckled fists and carefully dragged him up the steps. “You’re turning into a little incubus for me, not sure if I should be frightened or delighted.”
Theus grinned and followed Astarion, bewitched, drunk.
“Your warm little clutch happened to me,” Theus climbed the stairs with a glazed determination. “You’ve been driving me mad. I wanted to bend you over the first night I met you.”
It had been raining that night and Astarion had been so sure that the snare was tight around Theus’ ripe little neck, but he could not get the tiefling to budge from the little shelter the Elfsong’s eave allowed them. The rain had soaked through his shoes, biting bitter cold into his toes as Theus dug his fingers into Astarion’s trousers and up into his cunt. Astarion had teased him about not wanting to get his new city clothes wet, about fumbling and not finishing him.
Gods, of course this back water boy wanted to rut him next to the pile of rotting kitchen scraps. It was what Cazador wanted from him too.
“What a gentleman,” Astarion smiled and wrapped his fingers tight around Theus’ wrist. “You have me quivering . Me and my little clutch.”
Apparently all Theus needed to climb up to the ramparts and into the palace was Astarion invoking the image of his cunt with dirtier and dirtier words. That and a punishingly tight grip around the man’s wrist. Astarion pulled him in for dirty little kisses at every door, unlocking them behind his back and shielding the tiefling from the more questionable sights within the walls with a practiced ease.
Astarion licked up inside the man’s mouth, nipped at his swollen lower lip blunt teeth only . He let Theus touch his neck, his waist, down to his ass and attempted to curl that touch deeper. But he felt nothing, more than usual, not only was he navigating the twisting halls and the leering eyes of the mortal servants that haunted them - in his mind he was already in the guest room, desperately trying to anticipate Cazador’s reception.
The painfully long walk up and down all the steps and through the long corridors had lessened Theus’ drunkenness. But it might not be enough. The man had seemed to sober up when he stood upon the rampart, looking out over the lower city on his unsteady legs. But his determined arousal persisted in a way that Astarion could only imagine as a decanter for the wine he drank, shifted to another vessel, drunk as ever.
Do not let them linger, I do not care to see cattle gaping about in my halls. Hold them in the guest room, do not harm them, do not bind them, I prefer my prey blissful in their ignorance.
The halls were quiet. Astarion could only hear Theus’ oafish steps, his panting breaths and the wet pulsing lash of his lips and tongue. He should have felt relieved, having to attempt to explain away the screams and cries of pain and anguish to a target always put a damper on things. But the absence yawned out for miles inside of Astarion. The silence felt far more dangerous.
“Here we are,” Astarion opened the guest room door. Finally, much longer and it would be the dawn flaying Astarion alive instead . “Home sweet home. Make yourself comfortable, love, no one will bother us here.”
The room was empty. The bed was made, fresh robes folded over a chair, an assortment of reds arranged with waiting goblets. Cazador always had the servants make sure the iron teeth of his bear trap sparkled like a diamond. Astarion’s eyes darted about a third time, checking the shadowy corners against the ceiling. Empty, not a bat or puff of red mist in sight. The silence and emptiness continued to claw against the walls of Astarion’s mind.
Theus was upon him, lips up sucking at his neck succulent, rich, the last sparks of your life live on inside me, boy and hands yanking Astarion’s doublet open. Fine, it wasn’t like Astarion particularly wanted to talk anyways. It would be over soon and he could forget every mundane little detail of the man and his little life. He shrugged the doublet off and mirrored the tiefling’s passion, pulling his shirt free from his dusk-hued skin as he kept their lips locked.
“You’re so cold,” Theus said, for the second time that night. “No wonder you wanted inside so bad.”
“Better warm me up then,” Astarion’s voice was breathy and he let Theus think it was arousal. “Few better ways to get the blood pumping.”
Astarion led Theus’ hands away from his undershirt, mouth working against his with intent as he walked him backwards to the bed. Where was Cazador? He had been so furious and so wild with thirst, Astarion had done as he was bid to and fetched him a warm-fleshed and healthy young man. He searched the places inside of him that Cazador occupied, his shadow that cast in the hollow of Astarion’s chests and looked out of his eyes. A dull hum echoed back.
Theus fell back on his ass, his trousers lank around his open legs. Astarion held his mouth, sucking at the pulsing swell of his lower lip as he tore the thread bare underclothes from him. The tiefling made a strangled sound of excitement behind Astarion’s mouth, one hand fisted around his hard cock and the other hooked behind Astarion’s neck.
Ah. This again.
Astarion had to be pried off the man’s lips. Theus stared up at him and Astarion had the uncanny feeling that the tiefling was staring straight through him.
“I want to feel your pretty little mouth again,” He growled. Once you have them inside, you will see to their desires as attentively as you see to mine. Do this because it pleases me, only I may release you. “You’re so pretty on your knees.”
“Your command, my pleasure,” Astarion recited the words automatically as he fell gracefully to his knees. Theus pumped his hard cock in front of Astarion’s face urgently, as though he might burst at any moment. “Easy, my dear, wouldn’t want to have to cut our night of passion off short.”
Astarion had men come into the guest room and then come all too quickly. Righting their breeches and belts and shoving Astarion aside to leave. No amount of wanton begging and moaning had them turn back around to indulge the little whore they followed into the dark manor. The last time it happened Astarion had been severely punished, it had taken nearly three months for his bones to repair in all the places Cazador had broken them.
Astarion swatted Theus’ hand away from his prick and replaced it with his own. His hands would be cold, they always were, so he knew to touch it lightly enough to tease . Theus put both his hands into Astarion’s hair, taking up fistfuls as if he were more a beast than a man. Astarion flicked his tongue over Theus’ slit, the taste of salt curling sharply in his mouth as he forced the tiefling to enjoy himself.
But of course, the young man was more brash than that. Even when he was meek and shy in the alley behind the Elfsong on past nights he became a beast the moment his cock met Astarion’s mouth. He didn’t seem to even want to pace himself, instead snapping his hips like an over-eager stud dog. Astarion had indulged the first time, allowing himself to be shaped in the image of Theus’ personal desire, but he couldn’t risk him finishing before Cazador decided to join them.
Astarion gripped Theus’ thighs, nails clawing in warning against his burning hot flesh. The tiefling slowed to a shuddering stop in Astarion’s open mouth. Good. He took the opportunity to properly show the man what his mouth could do, what a century and change had shaped him into for the use by other men.
He didn’t know if it was the constant practice or the fact that he was technically dead that made his jaw open and work without ache. He only knew that this had, once in another lifetime, been an activity that set pain in his jaw and throat after a while. Now he felt nothing. No ache, no physical fatigue, no passion, no desire, no satisfaction. This was simply something his body did. This was something that others did to him. The phantom memory of pleasure rose up in his body and fell away, every time, just a reminder of something else that had been taken from him.
However tonight, as he worked his mouth and tongue on Theus’ cock, he did feel something.
Hunger .
The tiefling’s flesh was engorged with blood, pumping and teeming with life. Every stroke of Astarion’s bobbing head over his cock had his fangs caressed by it. Warm, thick, he could taste the beat of his heart in the vein that pressed the side of his teeth.
Thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.
It would have been delicious, he could tell, even though he had never fed on a man. He fancied he could taste his blood through the skin, its flavor evident in the salty tang of his precome over Astarion’s tongue. Just one tender little nip and the rich iron would rush into his mouth, Theus’ heart pounding and sending everything he had into the pretty little slut he was fucking.
The empty place inside of Astarion ached for it. Hunger consumed him. His nails dug into Theus’ soft flesh, leaving red crescents in his wake. He sucked and worked the flesh in his mouth, shaking, every animal instinct in him screaming to feed .
Thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.
His jaw trembled, as if gripped but an iron clawing hand, and fell open. He might as well be toothless, de-fanged and domesticated. If Theus noticed he didn’t seem to care, his hands twisted up demandingly in Astarion’s hair as he rutted up into his throat like the empty hole he was.
Pitiful boy, remove your clothing and give the young man what he came for.
The voice was alive in Astarion. He glanced up from the tielfing’s lap and saw his master standing on the opposite side of the bed. The hunger in him soured, it and every empty space inside of him turned into the familiar feeling of dread . It felt like home.
He released Theus from his hungry mouth and pulled his shirt up over his head, discarding it as he got to his feet and undid the ties on his breeches.
“Shall we get to the main event, my love?” Astarion sighed out the words, hoping that Theus would not hear the fear that lined them. “I know you didn’t follow me here to empty into my mouth again. You want this, don’t you?”
He kicked off his shoes and dropped his trousers with a practised flourish. Within an instant he was standing bare and exposed to the aroused tiefling, and to his master, standing in the shadows with his red eyes boring into his skin. He looked pleased. Relief poured into Astarion like a fistful of water thrown over burning coals. The fear remained.
“Fuck,” The tiefling groaned, fisting his ready cock as he eyes bugged at Astarion’s cunt. “You’re so beautiful, so sexy.”
“Aren’t I just?” Astarion forced himself to smile as he reached down to part himself, he was bone dry. Of course. “And aching for you, my dear, you’ve teased me for so long. I’ve laid here, reaching up inside of myself,” He forced a finger to curl inside, “Longing for your thick cock to kiss me deeply.”
Cazador smiled as if Astarion had made a quaint little joke. His hands folded in front of him, eyes narrowed to scrutinize his spawn’s little performance.
Theus’ hands circled Astarion’s hips and pulled him closer, lips open and kissing his skin hungrily, “I want to taste you.” One hand pried at Astarion’s ass, the other clumsily reaching to stroke between his legs. “I want you on my face!”
No.
“You torture me,” Astarion pushed the light hearted laugh from his teeth, “There will be plenty of time for that later , you simply cannot leave me wanting my love.”
Sit astride him, face me as he enters you .
It seemed impossible for Theus to not hear Cazador’s commands. But his lord’s lips did not part as his voice boomed between Astarion’s ears. The words were only for him, every compulsion a reminder that Astarion had nowhere to exist where his master could not follow him. He was little more than a pawn to be moved across a board, a puppet to be posed and moved at Cazador’s whim.
But this was far from the worst the vampire had him do. This was almost luxurious in comparison to his worst . Astarion should be thankful. Was thankful for his master’s kindness, his generosity, his mercy. He was thankful, wasn’t he? Shouldn’t he be? Why did gratitude taste like poison on his tongue?
“Hold me in your arms, Theus,” Astarion parted his legs, mounting the young man and settling back on his attentive cock. “Let me feel you, fill me up.”
Theus groaned, his arms tight around Astarion’s torso, his hands gripping at his scars. He adjusted them, settling back further on the bed and carrying Astarion’s feather-light body with him. If he felt the jagged rise on Astarion’s back he didn’t let it show in his face, no, his expression was full of desire . Unhindered and uninhibited. Young and rough around his edges, a vessel for every experience that laid out beneath his sculptor's hands. He was committing Astarion’s body and face to memory, his cock nudging up between Astarion’s folds, one of few conquests, perhaps his shining achievement. Astarion would never know.
Theus took Astarion’s lips in his with a desperate breath, his cock pierced him, thankfully wet enough from Astarion’s drooling mouth that he did not tear him open. He kissed Astarion fervently, moaning as his hands clamped on his bouncing hips. Following Astarion’s lead as he fucked himself up and down on his trembling cock.
Astarion held Cazador’s eye the entire time. Staring up past the tiefling, the reflection of his compulsion a fiery red haze over Theus’ closed eyes and his polished horns. Astarion’s hands were at Theus’ neck, holding him as the young man kissed him, feeling the rush of the blood in his veins. He parted his fingers invitingly to his master and let his hands slip down to the man’s shoulders. Cazador tilted his head appraisingly, finger tapping his chin in thought, and Astarion saw no urgent thirst in his eyes.
Cazador had already fed. Astarion was late to bring him blood. Luckily it seemed he had caught his master in good humor, a cat playfully batting his second meal as it purred. Perhaps the punishment would not be so severe.
Moan for me, boy, I want you full of his seed when I take him.
Astarion didn’t know if he hated that more than when Cazador took them when they were still hard and pounding. The death throws were different but neither less disturbing and loathsome as the other. Cazador liked to say that Astarion was giving the dead a service, pleasuring them in their last moments, letting them die while they were balls-deep in his tight little elven cunt.
If his stomach weren’t withered and dead, he would be sick about it.
Astarion dutifully moaned for Cazador. He drove his nails into Theus, letting him think he was moaning for him and his steady thrusts. Astarion fucked him back with exacting urgency, hips working in the routines he had been trained in. He was less expert in this than in lay back, spread your legs, accept everything you are given . But Theus was panting and moaning against him, arms shaking, hands reaching to grip and open him from behind.
Astarion could feel the man’s desire to grab him and throw him down to the bed. To have him open and spread so he could pound down to his deepest point, all the animalistic drive to burrow and fill. But Cazador wanted him like this. He hadn’t released the command. And yes, he was smirking now, sensing what Astarion was and watching his little pet struggle to keep the man in place.
“I told you I would ride you,” Astarion bit his lip as he leaned back, rolling his body in a show for both the men in the room. “You wild thing. Breed me, Theus. Claim me.”
Cazador’s laughter echoed in his empty skull.
“Fuck, Astarion!” Theus’ voice trembled. His age and inexperience flashed in his bugged eyes. No one had talked to him like this before. “I’ll do it. Fuck. I’ll fill you up, sweetheart. You feel so good I’m-”
Astarion wanted to push forward and capture his lips so he would shut up and die quietly. But even without command he felt his master’s desire. He gripped Theus’ shoulder in his hand as he rolled his pale body expertly on his cock.
“That’s it,” He encouraged, feeling everything in Theus’ body tighten up for the spill. “That’s it, relax and let it go, my love.”
Theus’ breath shuddered. A chill fell over the room, the candlelight dimmed but the tiefling was oblivious to it all. He didn’t feel the presence that joined them, nor the claws that framed his pleasure painted face. The jaws of death poised around him like a dark halo and Astarion was not permitted to look away, only to work his tightened hole over the man to give him his final rites.
Warmth filled Astarion. Foreign, molten heat dripping into his core as the scent of blood filled his all his senses. He wasn’t allowed to close his eyes, Cazador enjoyed having a witness to his feast, but it didn’t stop him from letting blackness take him. In that darkness he could almost imagine the warmth in him was up in his throat, draining down into his hungry heaving ribs. He could imagine it was the blood that had sprayed out to dapple his parchment skin, he could imagine he was being nourished by the life that Theus had not had the chance to live.
The man softened slowly inside of him. His hands quivered where they fell over Astarion’s bare thighs. His eyes empty and Cazador’s the only source of light in the room. Death didn’t join them in the room, not quite, instead the overwhelming scent of life that was being tapped and dripping like a finely aged wine.
Stand .
The command was a wordless shape in Astarion’s mind but he obeyed like a dog responding to a snap of his master’s fingers. Theus fell from him and then his seed slowly trailed down the inside of his leg. All that was left of the farm boy that had come to Baldur’s Gate to pursue sculpting the great statues he had gazed up at since he was a child. Nothing now but a collection of cooling fluids, a deadening bag of flesh on a perfectly made bed that no one ever slept in.
Cazador unlatched from the body’s neck, the redness of his blood stark over his bone-white face.
“ You disappoint me again, Astarion .” He spoke, blood wet against every word.
Astarion dropped to his knees and bowed his head.
“I beg your forgiveness, master.”
“ And one day you shall have it, boy. ” Cazador’s voice was sharp, but his cadence casual and sated. This was not a blade poised to cut, just one that had been held aloft to admire its shine. “ Is it sloth that has taken over you or have you forgotten the charms I instilled upon you? This one is simple, stupider than the chattel your brothers and sisters have dancing through my door. I fear you are not living up to the potential I saw in you .”
Astarion swallowed hard. His master spoke in past tense, as if he was no longer useful to him. What would happen to him if Cazador decided he was no longer worth the trouble? How much effort had Cazador poured into him to make him his perfect agent, his loyal spawn, his capable little whore?
“Master, please ,” He could not give excuses, not ever. “I will do better. I will do everything I can to not disappoint you again.”
“ Everything is so very little when it’s coming from you , Astarion. ” Cazador sighed and pressed his thumb against the swelling bite marks in the body’s neck. Bottling him up. “ But I suppose I feel fond of you tonight. Perhaps I have neglected your instruction, boy, is it my shortcoming that has led your alluring shine to dull? ”
Fear gripped Astarion from the inside, as though he would be turned inside out by his master’s words.
“No, master, it is my shortcomings alone.” He bowed his head deeper, hoping beyond hope that his master would not see the fear dancing in his eyes. “I have become dull and slothful despite your teachings, master, I am but a humble spawn in your shadow.”
“ Hmm, look up at me, boy .”
Astarion did. He forced himself to not glaze his vision and vanish into himself. He opened his very soul to Cazador, knowing that anything less would be seen as an affront.
“ All that grace and beauty, wasted on that pretty face of yours .” Cazador gripped Astarion’s jaw with a blood-streaked hand. “ Such a pity your spirit refuses to match it. Ah, well, ” He released him and settled back on the bed, slowly undoing the closures on his robe and letting it fall open. “ Something in that temperament has mortal men flock to you, even if it does not charm me. I know what you are, I suppose, a rat who thinks himself a tiger. ”
Astarion kept his master’s loathsome gaze, allowing each word to settle deep into his chest. Cazador was correct, he was always correct. Especially about him.
“ Instruction begins now, boy, ” Cazador almost sounded bored, as if this was the most tiresome of tasks. “ Show me how you lured this boy with that clever mouth of yours, and I will remind you how to use that hole between your legs. ”
“Yes, master,” Astarion breathed and his insides ached, his hunger abandoned for his master’s pleasure once again. “Thank you for your mercy, master.”