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Lately, the summer air has been warm at night even here in the shadowlands. On certain nights it swelters, on others it's muggy and stifling, and often your party finds themselves remiss that such dark shadow would feel so suffocatingly humid rather than the cool shade you might expect. It's a strange dichotomy, the shrouded landscape gives off the chilling cold silence of darkness, yet, you sweat when you sleep.
It was not a welcome find when a tomb you entered opened into an underground temple of Shar, as your party was hesitant and wary of her domain. Her gauntlet was brutal, offering no respite or space to breathe, every broken hallway and tomblike room was occupied by monsters, or necromantic tricks that heralded all manner of death and destruction. The longer you stayed, the worse you felt, and the worse you felt, the more times you needed to rest... It was a vengeful cycle.
Even worse still is the misfortune of your current predicament. It wasn't enough that you were already sleeping poorly, and accosted by all manner of beast and burden, the added effect of the rather unorthodox needs of Astarion were also weighing on you. Despite how much you enjoyed the process on many a night, and even encouraged this behavior, your mornings were blurry at best, and your knees wobbled dangerously on staircases, and your failing body couldn't outpace your fatigue which might have helped you dodge the incoming blade of a reanimated skeleton you were currently fighting.
The stab shocks you, lightning fast and precise, and the tip spears your abdomen in a brutal lunge. You're wailing loudly, a cry of shock and agony echoing in the dank atmosphere as the clacking decrepit grip of said undead skeleton holds its ancient blade aloft. You hardly hear the responding cries of your companions as you yell an expletive, the pain now lancing through your body in licks of searing fire.
Time seems to slow and blur, every passing second that this blade remains in your belly feels like a lifetime, and you hold the undead vacant gaze of your enemy, its eyes unnaturally aglow, its creaking grimy bones barely held together by cracked and eroded sinew, its threadbare clothing disintegrating. Even when the ornamental head of a mace suddenly crushes through the ribcage and shoulder joint of your foe shattering it into thousands of shards and specks of dust, you still find yourself aloft in a muddled headspace of slow motion.
The yank of the blade withdrawing was perhaps even worse than the pain of being initially stabbed, as the rough edges of your torn flesh, and your ruined leathers catch on the uneven blade edges, and give into the slice, ripping open the wound and making you wonder if it left you bereft of your primary organs.
Immediately you drop to your knees, your trained hands expertly fishing out a healing flask where you've stashed them, and as one hand presses into the miserable gush of your bleeding side, the other shakily brings the flask to your mouth and you down the bitter liquid in several easy gulps. Your body feels spent, every ounce of energy it takes to simply exist at the present moment feels monumental, and you let yourself simply kneel on the floor, holding your side as your blood streams down your leg soaking your clothes and pooling on the floor, waiting for the potion to stem the flow.
Your heavy breathing is wild and erratic as you try to regain your composure while the potion takes effect, ignoring the clashing sounds of combat behind you and gazing at the room around you. It's a large space of tiered platforms littered with discarded rubble, fragments of book spines, crushed bowls and trinkets, and mangled metallic wall accents destroyed by centuries of tarnish and neglect. Candlelight shakes violently against the walls in an uncanny iridescent purple, and illuminates the morbid collection of withered skeletons piled among the stones and decayed décor, and enhances the shadowy movements of your party members finishing the last of the skeletons that unsurprisingly ambushed you.
The minimal blood pumping in your veins is slow but it thunders through your brain like drums in the night and your resulting headache is nearly debilitating. The groan you let out echoes more like a whimper and your body throbs dully, nearly resonating in waves of blinding dizziness.
Shadowheart hurriedly kneels, sheathing her ornamental mace, immediately pulling your bloody hand away from the wound and offering a small spell of healing that tingles the area in a wash of clean light, and helps cleanse the wound of whatever rot, decay, and rust may have been on that horrifically ancient blade. It's not the place for a slower and more effective ritual spell, but the potion and her quick efforts stopped the bleeding and stalled the passage of your deadly trajectory.
She's looking at you with unbridled concern, kneeling in mirror to you on the ashen and pebbled floor, her hand pressed on your waist feeling cool and clean and somehow fairly intimate, your faces nearly touching as she leans to put pressure upon you, and the only thing that comes to your mind to say in the moment is a whisper that lands far more salaciously than you intended, "I guess rearranging my guts is more common down here than I thought."
She jerks her hand in startled surprise, and then tilts her head in unabashed bewilderment, never breaking your gaze, You can hardly make out a "I'm sorry, what?" murmur of incredulity, and her eyes close as her eyebrows tilt forward, clearly awkward about the overshared information, and looking like she wants to forget it.
You wipe a smear of ashy bonedust and sweat across your face petulantly, "Sorry, I don't know why I just said that..." When you try to laugh you nearly collapse at the movement. Despite the shallow bandage of magic keeping your skin together and your muscles in the correct places, the laugh muscles were jostling the internal bleeding and sending seismic waves of agony through your body. Another groan leaves your mouth and you sigh in painful exhaustion, looking sideways at the approaching form of Astarion, still impressively clean aside from a few drabs of bonedust on his defensive armor pieces.
"Do we really need the Nightsong?" You're not mincing words. The odds of this special weapon being just stashed in your camp chest with all the other special weapons you've been given or found on the road was fairly high.
He squats silently, nary a pebble or dusting of grainy bone ash creating a single instance of any sound underfoot, and eases the haft of your own blade from your firmly clenched grip, sheathing it slowly through the belt at his leather clad hip with his own weapons. "We're already here, darling, might as well see what all the excitement is about."
"Whose idea was this again?" Your eyes are locked with his, and a glimmer of amusement swim in the crimson depths as he reaches out to rub something off the ridge of your cheekbone.
You already know the answer, but it's still somewhat funny when it's said aloud. "Yours, dear."
You nod in silence, and feel the dull throb of your abdomen encourage you to wrap up the theatrics so you can actually be tended to. As you wonder how you're going to make the trek back to camp, blinking back dizziness and dancing spots in your vision, the friendly face of Karlach swims before you, her earrings jingling softly, the heat of her proximity somehow calming, her toothy smile enchanting.
"All aboard the Karlach Express, Soldier." She squats down in front of you like Astarion had and gestures with her hands at her back for you to get on and it's easy to simply fall into her and let her pick you up, crying out again when she hoists you jarringly to get a better grip. She sais something else over her shoulder, but your eyes are closing and your hearing is failing, and suddenly you're faint, draped over her strength, the fresh blood caked on your clothes sticking to her side, and succumbing to the utter quiet of a dreadfully cold rest.
You next awaken when you're jostled again as your body is set down on a camp roll. You can feel the tacky stick of partially congealed blood peel away between both of you as your body separates from Karlach wetly and you mutter a small apology for the gore you left on her to which she waves off like it's nothing.
"Ah, it's alright, mate. Nothing a good spell-o-rest won't heal up." Her eyes are still clear and bright despite her noticeable exhaustion, and she pets the top of your head, brushing errant hairs out of the way with a comforting smile. She looks over you again and with a dramatic furrowing of her brows, and an exaggerated sniff, continues, "Or maybe just a good scrub down, yea?"
You return her smile, and choke out the exhale of another painful laugh, already feeling refreshed and pull your knees up to rest your arms on them, leaning back against the wall you were sat against for more comfort. "If you find a nice waterfall to stand under, I'll join you."
Karlach stands and gives a wink and a two finger salute down at you, "Later, Soldier." She heads over to the pile of blankets she uses as a tent space, whistling slightly, and then you watch as she flops down spread eagle with an audible groan of relief.
Shadowheart's voice is unnaturally quiet, perfectly enunciated for the kind of cave like silence you're in, with a sweet tone that rings clearly in your ears, and immediately draws your attention from Karlach's tent. "Let's see, then..." She's carrying an unmasked expression of concern decorating her face, and kneeling down before you, in between your feet on the dusty ground.
She takes your hands and inspects your fingers and wrists, and frowns decidedly, grasping the leg on your injured side and helping you slide it to rest straight upon the ground so she can have access to your wounded side. It probably looks alright from the outside considering your battle treatment, but you're confident that the insides are a right mess, and you really do wonder about a source of clean water to wash in.
She immediately moves to undo the top buckles of your armor to pull the leather from you and expose the rest of your body, and you let her, thankful she is tending to you. Your shirt is all but ruined under the sturdy weight of your armor, as it's soaked in sweat, necrotic residue from reanimated corpses, and an unhealthy amount of blood and she pulls it off you as well, leaving you in the thin weight of your strappy bra and feeling slightly more bare than you're comfortable with.
However, when you hear her gasp in what sounds like abject horror, she's not looking at your blood stained side, she's staring blatantly at the column of your neck. You take in her expressive, clear eyes, shockingly wide, perfectly depicting an alarmed consternation, and suddenly memories of Astarion's breath on your skin just the night prior draw an awkward cough from your mouth as you hope it's not really as bad as she's making it out to be.
You watch with bleary eyes as Shadowheart gently prods the area and speaks in a low voice. "What has he done to you?" Her whispers are so faint, they could only be for your ears.
There was no denying that Astarion had been visiting you with recurring frequency. Your neck is swollen, bruised, the skin most likely a deep shade of red or purple, the scars he re-punctures to drink from are inflamed and sensitive to the touch. You're also fatigued, and drained, which has clearly caught up to you during waking hours. You hadn't realized exactly how much he fed from errant bandits and beasts until you arrived in the Shadow Cursed Lands and there wasn't any prey for him to hunt.
You crane your neck to the side to let her fully see the extent of the damage and bring a hand to touch gracefully at the punctures with her fingers, trying to make more light of the situation without dismissing her clear unease. "Oh this? It probably just looks worse than it feels..."
She closes her open mouthed gaping at your abused neck and speaks to you with an admonishing tone, dodging your attempts at deception. "Your body isn't meant to suffer this type of blood loss so frequently." She clears her throat, and you catch another unconcealed wave of awkwardness in her gestures.
You're inclined to agree considering you've just been stabbed, "I appreciate your concern, but I promise, I am more worried about being stabbed than proffering my neck." It's easy to tell the truth here. You're well aware of what it means to let a vampire bite you, and you're well aware of the consequences. You shift as you talk, and press a hand to your side, trying to ease the pain and draw attention back to the task at hand.
It doesn't seem to work as she sighs and arranges her face in a stern expression. "If he takes anymore you might as well be dead."
You appraise her for a moment. Her immediate concern seems to be fading as she sees that you're somewhat stable, and at least able to retain consciousness and clarity of thought, but an awkward frustration of sorts remains in its place. Her eyes are darting back and forth between your neck and your face and there's the slightest tinge of a flush on her freckled cheeks and you sense there's something deeper manifesting.
"I just..." She pauses again to consider her words, and a movement behind her shoulder draws your attention and you flick your eyes carefully toward the movement. Astarion is standing close enough, dressed down from his normal gear to his camp attire, and you get the impression he can probably hear most of what she's saying, but he's still far enough to make it seem like he's still giving you privacy. You catch his eyes as he looks at you, a blatant interest in both his stance and placid expression of consideration, and watch as a single brow raises.
Shadowheart grumbles a bit, troubled, and you dart your eyes back to her. Her brows tilt downward, her cheeks flush slightly, her lip turns upward in an awkward concentration. You find her behavior charming, cute even.
"Really, I insist," You begin, "I am perfectly fine." You speak lowly, not wanting to offend her kindness, but not wanting to presently unpack the depths of your predicament with her. There's a profound trust between you and Astarion that Shadowheart doesn't seem to understand, a connection of a shared interest, a fully mingled set of tastes. While you're certainly capable of asking him to stop, neither of you have wanted to in the past, and you don't imagine erecting boundaries for the future. And quite frankly, you really are more concerned about healing the side of your body that only recently had been stabbed none too gently with an ancient and most likely very dirty blade.
She doesn't buy your evasion, and frowns deeply "Look, I don't want to meddle in whatever relationship you two have, but you aren't well." Shadowheart's fingers are at the side of your jaw, turning your neck to expose his bite again. "This isn't 'fine'..." she throws your words back at you easily. "There has to be some sort of alternative..." She's murmuring softly, clearly considering her words, but seemingly unable to come up with a solution.
Your eyes flick again to Astarion's form, still watching the scene unfold, and he takes several intentionally measured steps toward you, drawing Shadowheart's attention and he crouches slowly next to the both of you causing a feeling of Deja Vu to creep slowly across the front of your mind at his actions.
"And does that mean you're offering?" His voice is slow, pointed, and undeniably excited.
Shadowheart responds instantly like a crack of lightning, and directs your jaw to the side, exposing your neck as if to admonish him for his behavior. "You can at least pretend to be remorseful for this." She's looking at him, eyes narrowed to piercing slits of abject hostility. It catches you off guard, and you're startled at how quickly her hackles raised, how easily the focus of the conversation shifted.
You watch as he turns his head slowly and dips his eyes over your neck, an unconcealed delight washing over his expression, encouraging ripples of want to thrum in your belly at how seductively handsome he looks. "It's such a lovely shade of red, don't you think?"
Shadowheart immediately flushes and you wrest control of your face from her hands and turn your head back toward her knowing scolding won't work on him the way she might think it will. Astarion has said on many a night that he enjoys the sight of your swollen and abused neck, and you have intimately enjoyed his interest and excitement about it, relishing in how worked up he gets from reveling in the visible claim upon your skin, and letting yourself crumble under the feeling of his bite.
Just as well, the act is decidedly more amorous than Shadowheart seems to understand it to be, and memories swim to the forefront of your mind of his tongue swiping across the front of your throat, his hands holding you steady at your ribs, a thumb swiping the underside of one breast, the press of his hips against yours, his knee sliding between your thighs, and even the quietest of breathy moans near your ear as he drinks.
She hisses at him with furrowed brows and angry words. "You make a mockery of our trust, Astarion."
You watch as his eyes flash excitedly, and in the briefest of moments, they travel the expanse of her form kneeling before you, before landing on her face again as he speaks. "Touchy... I didn't realize you were so... invested."
She counters easily with a scoff, waving a small gesture with her hand. "Well it's not like you make any effort to be private about any of this." Her form fidgets slightly, the awkwardness you saw earlier returning to her movements as she tucks an escaped strand of hair behind her ear, her voice lowering to a whisper. "I mean really? In the middle of camp? Have you no shame at all?"
You pause for a moment as her words strike you as odd, and you suddenly have a new understanding of why she's so focused on your neck rather than your side. Something has been waking her during the night.
Historically, Astarion's visits are no novel experience, and it's been a rather long time of regular visits during the night without any notice from any of your other companions, Shadowheart included. In fact, you've been rather impressed at how quiet he is when you remember that half the time you don't even wake at all when he visits.
However her blatant knowledge makes it abundantly clear that not only is she more privy to what's happening than she was before, but is now consistently awake at seemingly the perfect time. You dart your eyes back to Astarion, assuming he was at least partially responsible for this, because who else? Yet curiouser still, you wonder what he could possibly gain from this, and become unsure again if he really was culpable at all. Strange.
He jests again, drawing you from your thoughts, "Ah, so a show is what you're looking for, hmm?" His expression was wicked, a narrow-eyed deadly smile, unflinchingly full of confidence and teeth, and he draws up a gloved hand to stroke the top of your head. "Well well well, I suppose no matter what breed of underground filth you are, everyone boards the same train of thought eventually..." His dramatic tone is playfully aghast, clearly teasing her.
Shadowheart responds instantly, a sharp snappish retort as she lays her clenched hands in her lap. "It takes one to know one."
He rolls his eyes and pouts slightly, getting to the point "Is this why you joined the dark lady? Conventional relations not doing it for you?" He's moving his hand down the back of your skull to rest on the natural curve of your neck. He's clearly intentionally ribbing her, ever the wit.
Shadowheart sneers, "As if you're the resident expert on relations, the only thing you seem familiar with is eating people alive." She gestures to your neck, and visibly falters when she notices his gloved fingers encircling the circumference, gulping when she watches his thumb smooth the downy hair at your nape. When you see her look hesitantly back at him, he's looking at her dangerously, a wicked, intentional gleam in his eyes.
You might have felt somewhat abashed by his behavior had you not been examining his expression so closely. To any normal person his expression would belay the thrill of challenge, or the temptation of a fight perhaps, however since you have the unique experience of regularly appraising his features behind closed doors, you notice that the look on his face is not just a hunter's thrill. It's an attraction, a deep carnal hunger. An appraisal of objectification.
You know that look, as he's turned it toward you many times.
He wants to bite her. He wants to take her.
Ah... The moment this revelation hits you, a flood of heat washes through your belly, and conjured images of the three of you alone in the dark, tangled amongst each other in the tightest of ways, dominates your mind. While you certainly expected jealousy or anxiety to bubble up in a violent reactionary response to his flirting, all you're feeling while you process this information is a deep well of want, a heavy desire for her that sits in your belly, a hot-blooded craving to taste her skin and worship the curves and dips upon her form, an undeniable need to share this experience with him.
You're embarrassed at how easy it is to surrender to the fantasy of Shadowheart between you and Astarion, her hair sliding over the plane of your shoulder as she relaxes into you, and your hands on the underside of her thighs, holding her steady for his talented mouth. In moments you're thinking about how soft her lips look, and how graceful the curve of her jaw is, how tight the curve of her hip looks, how you desperately want to see her spread apart, shaking on a set of soft bedsheets. You try to cover a small intake of breath as you look upon her in a new light, maybe the same light Astarion is viewing her in, and hope your body's reaction to this whole situation isn't noticeable.
His smile is alluringly seductive, and you follow the movements of his lips. "Oh yes, very good technique..." Astarion dramatically changes his tone, seemingly in approval of her violent words and sharp actions and you wonder if anything really gets under his skin. "What's next?" he teases, leaning over a little, the hand at your neck twitching ever so slightly, "The crop? The tails? The clamps?"
Shadowheart is undeniably flushed, her features belaying an embarrassment by his barbs and she sharply turns toward you, her movements stiff and awkward, and helps you sit straighter in front of her, guiding your legs to rest on the floor in a more comfortable position, your feet nearly touching her hips as she adjusts your bodies. "You're a scoundrel and an asshole, Astarion." She mutters, "You should feel shame for inciting this."
Without missing a beat, she reaches forward with one hand to rest gently on the plane of your bared chest, lifting the other in a praying gesture, and speaks an incantation softly that flutters through the still air and cradles you in an aura of soothing comfort.
For the next minute your body nearly swells with the magic coursing through your veins, invigorating your circulation, renewing your thrumming bones, caressing the wound at your side and leaving your neck undoubtedly pristine, save the small scars that would remain a permanent feature.
It's deeply sensual the way you can feel your blood quickening, your core heating with a rushing energy, your mind opening to the grace of magic. The sensation of the softest of gossamer caressing your skin leaves shivers in their wake that rumble in your deep tissue muscle, all the way down to your bones, as her cooling magic begins to knit the weave of your flesh back together. Your body instantly fills with a new source of lifeblood, and you are not at all prepared in any way for the sheer experience of such fullness so erotically familliar. Your mouth hangs open, a trembling sound of surprise tumbling out and mixing with a long quiet moan as you close your eyes in sheer bliss.
You can feel your muscles relaxing your shoulders dropping, your neck craning into Astarion's hand as you lean back against the pillar, your eyebrows furrowing as your open mouthed expression leaves you gasping erotically. The muscles in your thighs clench, you back arches deliciously, the walls of your core flutter sensationally as if commanded, and you involuntarily raise your knees as you succumb to the heavy pulse of your cunt. You slip your hands down the plane of your thighs and feel your knees splay a fraction to the side, fully relaxed now. You feel the dull throb at your side recede, and a wash of refreshing light coats your body all the way down to your bones. An energy you haven't felt in days returns to you in a cool rush and you remain both deliriously pleasured and feeling wonderfully rejuvenated.
As you exhale, you open your eyes, fresh to the world again, and shift them to Shadowheart, looking at you with a mixture of awkwardness and shock. You blink several times and clear your throat, and trying to swallow the lingering ambience of your heady orgasm. Your throat catches and your voice rasps in a soft sigh. "Oh my god."
Shadowheart's flush might as well be a permanent feature at this point and she brings her hands to her mouth to cover the bottom of her face, clearly not anticipating this turn of events, and mirrors you. "Oh my god."
Astarion pulls no punches and tosses his copper into the hat. "Are you quite sure you used the correct spell, Shadowheart?" His fist around the back of your neck squeezes noticeably and then is gone, the back of his fingers pressing into your forehead as if pretending to check for a fever. "I'm quite sure I've never experienced a spell with such wonderfully effective results."
She immediately dips her head, averting her eyes, and coughing awkwardly as she moves to stand. "I, uh, you should be good as new." She extracts herself from your personal space rather suddenly, and mumbles something about thinking it's a good time to meditate as she steps in the direction of her tent, leaving you and Astarion on the floor together.
You slide your attention to him, and find him watching you intently as he moves his hand from your head and rests his forearms on his knees, still crouched before you. He's looking at you with a lecherous grin, and yet his eyes seem suggestive of a deeper intrigue.
Your reaction may have been provoked by your own filthy mind, but it still remained a surprise nonetheless. The throb in between your thighs and the newly damp patch in your underwear certainly is as good an example of this new fantasy you seem to be brewing as any, and you groan softly. "Did I come off too strong?" You don't want to say what you're thinking aloud yet, in case this really wasn't a shared desire and you inferred the wrong message from his actions.
"Oh you came alright." His eyes travel the length of your body, his expression turning somewhat pensive as it pauses briefly at your abdomen. "Do me a favor, darling, and don't make me worry in the future, hmmm?"
You brace a hand on one of his bunched thighs still squatting before you, and turn toward him, resting on one hip and drawing your legs under you, leaning your body between his knees, humming a lilting response, "You were worried?"
He dips his head and you let your eyes slip shut as his brushing lips graze the side of your cheek, whispering quietly. "No, but I am quite bothered that you let an undead nobody stab you." A tooth snags in your ear and he confirms, "That's a privilege reserved only for me."
You moan softly, feeling the warm puff of your breath caress the side of his ear, and whisper back. "I happen to have a surplus of blood at the moment... maybe I can make it up to you?" You bring a hand to your nearly-bare chest as you feel him move to stand.
He smiles down at you and looks at your exposed top half blatantly, "And I happen to be free tonight as it were, cancelled plans and all that."
He waits for your response of an easy, "It's a date, then." And then turns and heads leisurely to his tent, a subtle sway about his steps.
If the dark of night in Shar's domain feels oppressive against the dwindling flames of the campfire, you hardly notice. You're currently seated upright, half naked on a crumbled and cracked stone ledge at the edge of camp, and wildly distracted from the ambience.
Your bathing date with a waterfall had been fruitful, and you were able to don a breezy linen shift when finishing up which promptly soaked up the dew left on your freshly clean skin, draping erotically over your chest that you left bare, and accentuating the figure of your bust, and the peaks of your cold-hardened nipples.
You had waited for Astarion after arriving back at camp, fairly alert given your newly refreshed constitution, and you didn't have to wait very long into the night before your companions began dozing and the air became silent and still. When he inevitably approached your bedroll, and took your hand, he veered away from his tent, and nudged you into a set of fallen pillars instead, propping you against the stone, nudging a knee between your legs, and slowly picking at the pieces of your new attire.
You're bathed in a fluorescence of the purple and gray ambience, half cloaked in shadow; he's already removed your outer pants, draping them on a piece of rubble next to your discarded boots, and unbuttoned the breezy tunic you donned, leaving you mostly exposed, your skin cooled slightly by the stagnant dank atmosphere of the temple.
You lift your arms to grab at his shoulders, feeling the collar of your shirt slip down to your elbows and breathe deeply, keeping your shaky voice low and quiet. "Someone might see us..." While you're hidden half-heartedly from your sleeping companions, the camp is smaller here, crowding a long forgotten corner of the ruin, meaning less room for complete privacy, which makes your tryst all that more explicit and scandalous should you be caught.
"So they might..." He hums and takes a sharp breath, feeling up the smooth expanse of your thigh with an eager hand. He's squeezing your flesh in sensitive areas, grasping strongly at your hips, pulling tightly at your waist, despite regular feeding, he seems desperate, starved, unnaturally hungry.
"Did you know..." he continues, rolling his crotch into the junction of your spread thighs, and finding a peaked nipple with a searing tongue. "...We've had a rather persistent voyeur this past week or so?"
The jolt of pleasure races through your body like lightning. You feel your core clench and your legs flex and try not to gasp too loudly. The shirt at your arms is both a cloak and a restraint as it bunches around the small of your back whenever you reach for him, so instead you find the waistband of his pants to grip, pulling him further into the welcome spread of your thighs.
You think of Shadowheart's embarrassed flush, and her intimate and glaringly accurate knowledge of your nightly activities. It wasn't hard to suss out his implication, and you softly moan a response. "She certainly seems to be awake at odd hours lately."
"So she is." His voice was quiet in your ear, a practiced skill of precision breaths, bringing you to the present. You try again to keep quiet but a hand slides up the side of your thigh as his mouth bites eagerly across the swell of your cleavage, still exposed from the gaping tunic.
"It's a shame she failed to mention this afternoon how intently she watched us." He's scraping his teeth on the inside of one breast, reddening your skin, bringing a flush to the surface, teething another bruise to bloom, not yet puncturing the abused skin. He's panting, a snarl working its way up through his throat as his body shudders against yours.
He's massaging a thumb down the inside of your thigh now, "Do you know she's watching us even now?" Your panting breaths and heightened senses are even more on alert now, and there's no doubt in your mind now that Astarion is definitely interested in this new development. He's eager, excited, ravenous.
His thighs flex against your crotch as he rolls his hips again, and the caress of his restrained cock against the seam of your underwear pulls a shudder from your body. His massaging thumb presses deeply into the bite scars on the inside of your thigh, and he watches intently at the way you moan softly and jerk in his grasp, swallowing the small noise in his mouth as he kisses you.
You release his lips with a small sound and moan a soft reply. "I'm sure she's just worried you're taking advantage of her healing spells." It's hard to formulate coherent thought, but you do your best, and try to keep the ringing gasp from his fingers stimulating his second bite from echoing in the night.
Astarion thumbs the scars again and reaches up with his other hand to grasp at the side of your neck, tilting his head and deeply kissing you with a graceful sweep of his tongue. You feel your body arch into his ministrations, the bulge at your nethers is prominent and thick, and he rocks into you rhythmically. You squeeze the sides of his waist with your calves, and gently claw with shaky fingers at the buttons of his waistband.
At first you're unsure how to feel about being so on display. You've never shared this type of experience with anyone other than your partner at the time, and had never considered it until this afternoon. However, the more you linger on the prospect of being watched, there's an intrigue here that is naughty, even sensually stimulating. Is she watching out of a personal interest this time? Does she like what she sees? Your mind reels from the possibilities of this new development, your body quivers at the anticipation, your core undulates at the mental stimuli. You feel simultaneously interested and embarrassed, and your body trembles headily.
You're running hot, burning wildly under the overwhelming sensuality of his actions. His tongue leaves you breathless as he kisses you deeply, his mouth an overwhelming sweep of passion. His arms are holding you steady, the press of his abdomen and pelvis leave you shaking and bleary, thighs clenching, core wanting, breath fluttering.
With a slow suck, he pulls his tongue from your mouth, "I think she was denying how much she wanted a show earlier..." Astarion's suggestion might have seemed indecent earlier, but as you exhale, an even deeper arousal fills you with a lurch, and you realize the prospect of a voyeur excites you. Your shaky breath must be atrociously loud, despite how much you try to keep quiet, but you take the opportunity to fully shuck your shirt from your arms and toss it near the pile of your other clothes so you can reach back up to caress his hair with your fingers, and grasp at his shoulders and the back of his neck.
"Lead on..." You moan softly, letting your legs relax open a little wider.
His response is immediate. In seconds his rubbing thumb moves from the inside of your thigh and his whole hand is sliding down the soft of your belly, dipping beneath the band of your underwear, and tunneling two long slender digits through the slick flower of your lips and up inside your wanting body, more than ready for intrusion. You bring a hand to clasp over your mouth as you moan again, diligently staying quiet. He pulls back to look at you, a wide eyed revelation clearly plastered across his expressive face, and you get the impression he hadn't realized quite how soaked you were.
His expression morphs into a confidence that would have made you flush if you weren't already so worked up, and he tuts at you. "And here I thought you were opposed to the idea." He cocks his head and watches you closely, surely enjoying your expressions as he tickles the inside of your slick walls with gentle pressure, articulated motions, and seductive gestures.
Your body is trembling anew, his hand at your pussy is maddening, soaked in the drool of your arousal, terribly precise in all of its movements, and coaxing you closer and closer to a familiar peak. You have no doubt should he bite you, your body would respond as it has learned to do when met with his ministrations. You're so wet you can hear the soft slick sounds of his fingers inside of you, and you knock your head back against the pillar, feeling overstimulated and cloudy.
Your panting breaths and writhing body seem to egg him on, and he fondles the plane of your body as if in exploration. First it's your neck, he's petting the swell of your throat, and running the tips of his fingers over the bones at your clavicle. Next it's the globe of a breast, and he squeezes you tenderly, massaging the softness in rhythm to his fingers inside of you. He fits his face back into your neck as you feel him swipe down the ridge of your ribs and grasp at your waist sharply, directing the curve of your spine. Your pelvis tips at the motion and his fingers bury deeper, the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit and wrenching another gasp from your mouth.
"Bite me." You're impatient, and needy. You grasp at his arms with shaking fingers, and keep your neck bared for his tongue and teeth. His fingers are working you so sweetly, pulling shivers and trembles from your body, coaxing you rapidly toward the release you want.
"Patience, pet. I want her to see you take my cock before she sees you take my teeth."
Your body immediately clenches in surprise at his raunchy words through a small orgasm, clasping his fingers in an undulating tight squeeze, muscles fluttering wildly. Your legs rise, your thighs widen, your back arches, and you open your mouth to gasp and bring your hands up again to cup your face to try and prevent the sound from erupting out of your mouth too loudly.
"Mmmm, there we go..." You hear him moan softly at your ear and his fingers drum none too gently on the spongy inside of your upper walls in alternating taps, causing your body to continue its stimulated shudder, prolonging the overwhelming sensation of relief. You try your hardest to keep your moans of gratification muffled, and collapse into the stone pillar behind you.
Several things cross in your mind as you hear him praise you audibly. The first being that this is now the second time you've had an orgasm in front of a third party, and it's an immeasurably heightened feeling, one which makes your body shudder uncontrollably, and flush with an erotic self consciousness.
The second is that you confirm your earlier sentiment that you like that she's watching you, and feel a different type of release internally as you process that she's just watched you have an orgasm. How much did she see? What do you look like to her in the throes of orgasmic bliss? What parts of you can she actually see? What parts remain mysterious?
The third is another direct confirmation that this new kink you seem to be exploring with Astarion goes both ways as you see he's explicitly enjoying himself, and wonder how he'll explore this in the future.
He slides his fingers from your cunt slowly, and brings them up to his face, obviously licking them in a somewhat performative manner, and you huff slightly through your panting breaths, "I didn't peg you for a voyeurism kink, though it shouldn't surprise me." Based on his gestures, and how he's performing, you are starting to get the vague idea of Shadowheart's position in the room, and gather her line of sight most likely catches the both of you in profile to her.
He reaches down to pull your panties off your body, sliding them down your thighs and over the obstacle of your feet, speaking lowly in an amused tone. "Darling you haven't pegged me at all."
Your panties are off and laid atop the steadily growing pile of your clothes. "That can be easily remedied for her."
"Oh she's not here for me." He's stepping in between your thighs again, raising them to rest on his hips, gripping them tightly in strong hands, dipping his face to yours, nibbling your jaw, and down to your newly bruised neck again. It hurts now, a throbbing pain that feels swollen and tender, you know the moment his teeth sink into old scars it'll be far more intense than previous bites and you wince at the feeling.
He's delicate as he licks the waiting wounds, gentle, and slow, either noticing your shallow discomfort, or unable to help himself prepare you for his bite.
You don't really believe him when he denies that her gaze is for him. His figure is striking, sensual, charismatic, he turns heads in a crowd, and would undoubtedly be the focus of voyeurism from any one. However, before you have a chance to vocalize this, he continues.
"As I lost myself in your pretty little neck for the past few nights, she watched you squirm under me, she watched your little moans and flushed face..." His pants were unbuttoned and his underwear pulled down, exposing his cock now resting on the junction of your thigh. "She watched your body react perfectly for me, spreading your thighs for my fingers in your sleep..." He's fitting the head against your lips, petting your entrance graphically with the tip of his prick.
His words felt filthy, naughty, scandalous. Your body heats with a hot blooded passion, your legs tremble imagining the scene he describes, and you quake under the onslaught of his obscene motions. Her awkwardness at the time seems well-placed now with this context.
"If only she could see how prettily you drip for me." He's suddenly pressing in, pushing your lips apart, holding your shaking knees open as he penetrates you here out in the open, it's as if he's presenting you for Shadowheart to see.
It feels disgraceful, hedonistic, sublime.
There's an ecstasy here of knowing someone else is privy to your pleasures, and you give into the feelings, your body nearly swallowing Astarion's length in one pass as how sopping your cunt is. Your gasp rings out sharply in a half formed murmur of his name, your hands clench at his forearms, your shoulders bunch, and your teeth abuse your lower lips as you try desperately to reign in more sounds spilling out from your mouth.
He hums erotically, moaning a soft "Exquisite..." in your ear. He adjusts your thighs astride him, cupping the hefty weight of your ass in both hands, rocking his prick as far as he can fit inside of you in pulsing bursts, and then stroking down the skin of one leg to hook a calf around his waist, the soft fabric of his clothes bunched in the crook of your knee.
"I don't think she realizes I can still see her..." He rolls his hips, sliding out smoothly and tunneling back inside, "Touching herself here," He pairs a smooth caress of your clit with deep thrust, sinking to the back of your pussy deliciously. You moan headily through your nose at the arc of electric pleasure that courses through the depths of your pelvis, not wanting to open your mouth lest you be too loud, and suddenly you're envisioning her delicate hands slipping through slick folds and stroking her sensitive clit under the restraint of her form fitting nightwear, her pretty mouth open in a silent gasp, her back arching beautifully.
You let your mind wander easily through the images you conjure, the visual fantasy adding an erotic flush to the sensations coursing through you. Would Shadowheart drip for him as you do? Would she feel as tight around your fingers as you imagine? A clear image of your head between her thighs overwhelms you as you see yourself nibbling at the sensitive skin, petting the soft skin of her wet labia with searching fingers, tonguing her hole with delicate licks and you gasp headily, clasping tightly around Astarion.
He groans your name into your ear and you slide firm hands up the plane of his back, feeling the deep ridges and scars of infernal under the silk of his shirt. His thumb strokes your clit slowly and you seize slightly, pleasure washing in waves of tingles through the deep tissue in your bones. He's rolling into you slowly, carefully, deeply, and you shudder at the intimate passion.
Would shadowheart shiver the way you do, quivering and shaking through an endless orgasm when he uses his teeth in the best way? Everything about Astarion is about control. How well would she submit to his pace, his pleasure? You imagine her lithe legs trembling the way yours do, her delicate hands grabbing at his body to hold herself steady. You imagine the way the soft skin of her back would press into your breasts as you wrap your arms around her, stroking her waist, kissing her shoulders and neck as Astarion spreads her apart inch by decadent inch-
-"Is this how you'd fuck her?" You blurt out, slightly louder than intended, a shaky exhale catching the lobe of his ear. You're blatantly succumbing to the filthy effects of this voyeurism kink. Your body clenches wetly around Astarion at the conjured images from before and you moan again, fantasizing of how she would sound as she takes him.
Astarion tuts at you and gives you a disappointed pout, mouthing up your jaw and over to your lips, burying his body rhythmically within you in tantalizing pulses. "You can't be jealous of the voyeur, darling, we're the main event here, that's not how this works."
He's misunderstood. "I'm not jealous." you moan softly, winding your hands around his shoulders, fingering his soft shirt, holding him tightly at the back of one shoulder with a tight fist. He's rocking into you, pumping deep into the back of your pussy, the wet noises seem far too loud for the late night ambience of a silent sleepy camp.
Astarion hums with a clear lilting tone of dubiety, but you double down, caressing the plane of his jaw and moving your lips against his in a shaky whisper. "I'd hold her open for you, help her take you the way I do."
Astarion shudders and jerks forward with a gasp, grasping your hip as he holds you to him firmly, clearly not expecting this line of thought. He shoves you into the pillar and wrenches your knees upward with a gruff violence, pulling a deep shuddering breath from your chest as you relish in his unrestrained roughness.
You moan low and breathy, imagining the moment he'd fill her the way he fills you "I bet she'd fit you like a glove..." You reach your arms up again to wind through his hair, cording fingers through the styled strands, and gently stroking the tips of his ears. He grinds deeply into the back of your pussy again before slowing his rhythm momentarily to stay buried in your soaked quivering core.
He's shuddering against you with light panting breaths. You gasp again and pulse around his length, feeling spread apart and all your senses alight with fever. He's squeezing the underside of your knees tightly, forcing both of you still, and you can tell he's lost a semblance of his impeccable control.
You moan again, unable to fully keep quiet with the stimulation wracking your body, and mouth along the plane of his neck, "I'd lick her so she drips the way I do..." You pair the sentiment with an obvious lick under the lobe of his ear.
He groans in your ear and his hips stutter sharply, piercing you deeper than before, tapping the head of his cock to the back of your hole several times, causing you to slam your eyes shut at the onslaught of sensation and shake in his arms as you partially whimper his name, and whisper encouragements, "oh fuck just like that..."
His voice rumbles a low heady rasp of sultry pleasure, "Careful darling, or this'll end too quickly..." His tone is warning, but his deep throbbing presses inside of you expose how he really feels; thrilled, excited, delightfully scandalized. He lets go of your knees and you immediately wrap your legs around his waist, aligning your cunt more securely with the swollen length of his prick, and he gasps in your shoulder, winding his arms around your waist and back, beginning to rock again into you in a sensual rhythm of tight closeness.
Your legs are trembling and your toes are curling, his cock is sliding back and forth sensually, slow and teasing. He's fucking you in long wet strokes, pelvis pushing against your squished lips, thighs braced under your upturned legs, he's back in full control, slowly devouring you.
"Bite me." you plead again, weak against the onslaught of pleasure. "Show her what she wants to see..." He immediately rolls deeply into you, slamming your hips against the stone sharply, the wet caress of his length and his tight embrace almost too much to bear.
"She's already seen me bite you, love." He's taunting you, teasing you, dragging this out.
You dig your heels into the back of his ass, flexing your inner thighs, and clenching the walls of your pussy with the motion. "She hasn't seen you bite me while you're inside of me..." You pull a deep rumbling groan from him as he lifts his body slightly off yours and looks down at you, eyes feral, face flushed, teeth sharp and descended.
"Ask nicely" He's looking at you in the eyes with an arrogance flashing momentarily across his pleasured expression, and you drink it up greedily.
Without a moment of hesitation you whine, "please..." deeply breathing through the word as your whole body thrums with anticipation. He gets off on dominating just as much as you get off on submitting for him and it's too easy to fall into that role when he's inside you the way you crave.
He murmurs a "That's my good girl..." and suddenly the sharp points of his teeth are finding old scars, fitting the needle-like points into the divots, and boring down through swollen flesh to reopen the wound into your neck. It's both unbearably painful, and mind-blowingly intense, and just as you imagined, more so than any of the times he's visited you in the night. His abrasive chewing made your skin sensitive, swell, and just like popping a blister, all that blood that rushed to the surface of your swollen and inflamed bruised neck was being drained as he drinks deeply from you.
The feeling is a constant stabbing of both painful ecstasy and numb euphoria. Your muscles bunch, your hands grip his shirt and arms trying to resist as he penetrates you to the hilt with both his dick and the length of his teeth. You're seizing and clenching, aflame with an excruciating endless contraction.
And then suddenly you feel your body instantly releasing around him, coming in world shattering bursts of trembling quakes and undulating flutters, relaxing into a shuddering blissful mess astride him. Your back arches, your legs relax from around his waist into a shaky wide spread, your hips open and wanting for his deeply rocking hips and your cunt suckling tightly around the whole length of his pulsating cock.
Your toes curl forward into a pointed arch, your arms fall limp, weakly grasping at his shirt, and your head lolls to the side. Your pussy continues to spasm around his prick as your abdomen clenches, and the sucking pulls of his mouth at your neck leave your head in the clouds, blissfully high, floating euphorically, and trembling in his arms. He's bracing you with one hand supporting your head as you lay into the pillar behind you, and the other hand tightly pressed to the soft of your abdomen to hold you firmly while letting you writhe and quake under him. You don't know how long your body remained shuddering under his, collapsed upon the pillar behind you, but you come to the surface of your orgasm in shaking bursts, shivering in clear ecstasy, overwhelmed with sensation, deeply throbbing, and rhythmically pulsating with dull thud. You're panting, tired, and unable to move, simply relishing in the sensations.
A clairvoyance washes over you as you begin to blink back the dizzying euphoria and stare blurrily into Astarion's satisfied burgundy stare. Not only did you both get off on the idea of a voyeur, you fantasized about her, objectified her, performed for her, came for her.
"Aren't we a pair?" your voice wobbles, but your jest seems mutual as he chuckles deeply, softly thumbing the scars on your thigh again. He's gently kissing down your throat to your breasts and his roaming hands massage the quivers from your muscles.
"Enjoy your little fantasy?" He moves his hands sensually to stroke your calves and upturned thighs, fully laying upon you now, pressing both of you closely against the alcove, guiding your legs around his waist again comfortably. You wind your arms slowly around the back of his neck in a close embrace and let the weight of his body relax into yours, crossing your ankles behind his back.
You're in a rapturous ecstasy, muddled pain and orgasmic bliss clouding your senses and prolonging the weightless feel of your floating consciousness. Your mouth muscles are difficult to control but you manage to exhale a response, "As if you weren't imagining her in between us."
Astarions dick twitches inside of you and he sharply laughs under his breath, still petting your body where he can reach, your thighs at his waist, your hair, the sides of your body. "We really are a pair, then."
Your like mindedness feels funny, warm, content, and you can't help but smile away your residual shame of engaging in partial exhibitionism. Somehow your mutual exploitation of Shadowheart is less embarrassing than if it were just you the whole time.
A inkling crosses your mind now that you have a clarity of thought, and you run your fingers through his hair at the back of his head. "You've been waking her before coming to me this entire week, haven't you-aah..."
As you're speaking, you feel the ridge of his cock slowly sliding from your body, the sensations causing you to moan as the ooze of his release drips steadily from inside of you. Your legs splay again as he stands, unwinding from his waist, and you pant against the pillar, overstimulated and shuddering, spread as if on display.
He pauses and reaches down to thumb through the drip of your sodden lips, drawing an audible gasp from your mouth. "I can't really be responsible for coddling light sleepers, hmm." He slides the digit across the mess at your hole and smears it against your clit drawing another shudder and a dribble of fluid to stream out of you, and you reach to grasp his forearm to steady yourself. "Or for nosy voyeurs..."
You'd happily lay open and let him play with your body all night if he wanted. "Of course not."
He steps away slightly with a satisfied hum, and you lower your aching legs, carefully dodging the splatter on the ground. He slowly hands you pieces of your attire as you don them, mysteriously already buttoned up. You have a hard time inching your own pants up your trembling legs, still feeling overly sensitive, and you know panties will need washing, but you care not for their fate regardless.
You're fuzzy again, wobbling on two feet, the floor coming in and out of your hazy vision and you barely hear him speak again as you struggle with the fabric around your body, the slow throb of your bloodless body hampering your cognition.
"Come to my tent for the night. I'll watch you." He's carrying your boots by the leg holes in one hand, the other in a fist at his hips as he watches you clasp your pants together, and unsteadily rebutton your shirt. You nod slightly after several moments, already thinking of asking him the same thing. You certainly wouldn't want to prove Shadowheart right after all.
You step lightly around to his tent together and he stoops to set your boots down at the entrance, following you inside, and lounging against the familiar sturdiness of his personal chest. He watches you settle on his bedroll, and stretches his legs out in front of him, and like many a prior night, the high of rampant blood loss grabs a hold of you, and wrests you into a fitful sleep, encasing you in dreams of Shadowheart's body, her soft skin, and fantasies of the way you know Astarion would undo the both of you at his own pace.