Work Text:
He had not talked directly to Ban about Halsin after that conversation, he’d told himself it was beneath the Ascendant’s concerns; in truth, it would have hurt him too much to hear. He remembered seeing Ban walk back into their room after that night, smelling like arousal and him. How he had barely been able to let himself think about it, much less be calm enough to talk to her about it.
'Whither is thy beloved gone?'
Chapter 16
He watches them leave. He watches her, always, and this moment is no exception; there is nothing new about that.
The pounding in his chest, however, is.
Astarion sits on the bed, picking up Necromancy of Thay . He’s reread it a few times since the ascension, hoping it would provide information about the changes in himself he would be encountering. So far that has proven fruitless, despite him understanding the book more and more with every attempt at divining its secrets, but right now the words swim in his vision much like the first time he opened it. The book’s voices are thankfully silent, but there’s no making sense of this tonight.
Are his hands shaking? Are his eyes wet? Is he breathing too hard?
Gods. I’m meant to be better than this , he thinks.
In any other circumstance Ban asking to sleep with Halsin might have been fine, other than for some jealousy; a little uncomfortable perhaps, back when he couldn’t give her the same pleasure, but he knows he did well enough in the Shadow-Cursed lands:
Fingers deep inside her curling into hooks, his crooked touch enough, just enough to bring her to ecstasy. And then later on there were her own hands, her mouth, wrapped around him, sucking every last drop he had to give. There was so much lov-
He shakes his head. He can’t afford to think of that.
The parchment stares back at him, the text seemingly mocking him. Astarion snaps the book shut with an annoyed sigh.
It’s his fault, isn’t it? Like how everything seems to be nowadays - the rite, even though there was barely a word of protest amongst his companions at the time. This.
“It doesn't concern me. You are mine. No one can change that.”
“Go right on with Halsin. Far be it from me to hold your hunger against you.”
Words that were so easy to say at that moment, the absolute certainty that Ban would not dare provoke her sire all the reassurance he’d needed; so effortless to let them slip, his countenance not even the slightest bit perturbed - that is, until she turned away from him and walked in the direction of Halsin’s bed.
“Fuck!” he growls, throwing the book with one hard flick of his wrist; Necromancy of Thay sails farther than he intends it to, the extent of his new strength still unfamiliar to him. He watches it hit the wall with a dull thud , then looks away. That’ll serve the damn book right.
Without the book, there isn’t much else to distract him from his thoughts; he could head out of their room and seek out the company of their other companions; however, they have all been avoiding him since the rite. A drink, then, he figures. Considering his new ability to consume mortal food, it may help dull his mind and take the edge off. Hopefully.
Astarion heads for the door of the room, intending to drink himself senseless at the tavern. If that is possible.
His mind, traitorous as it has always been, inevitably begins circling the thought of his consort and Halsin.
A bottle of their best vintage later, paid with coin from Cazador’s stash, and he’s back in the room, sitting yet again on their bed; he’d seen Gale and Shadowheart dining in the tavern and had no willingness to be seen drinking alone in a booth.
He figures he could try peering into Ban’s mind; see everything for himself, scratch that itch. No doubt Halsin has her on the grass, much like Astarion himself had her, back in that clearing. No doubt she’s moaning Halsin’s name, cock deep inside her where his own should be instead, hands grasping what is his and no one else’s, except he’d been too weak yet again, too weak to seize what belongs to him and hold onto it -
Is it weaker to ask her to stay? Or weaker to goad her like he did, to test her and thereby drive her into the arms of another man?
He isn’t sure; he thinks the spawn inside him, that pathetic creature, is laughing right now. She wouldn’t have left me, it would have said. I would have been strong enough to ask her to stay, would have been unafraid to trust her with my heart - oh, sorry.
Do you still even have one?
The hammering in his breast seems to indicate yes, but he stamps the thought down before it takes hold.
Astarion sincerely hopes the alcohol takes.
The man on top of her is too large, his cock stretching her to what feels like her limits as he pushes in; pleasure and pain intermingle in such a dizzying storm that she’s out of breath, even if she doesn’t need it. As Halsin slowly inches in, the pain ebbs, replaced bit by bit by that feeling of being filled, of her cunt being wholly taken.
She can hear Halsin’s heartbeat pick up as he fully buries himself in her. His hips begin to move, a gentle, careful thrusting that still sends tendrils of lust unfurling from her core outwards; the sheer size of his cock ensures that even with such small movements he inevitably still hits all the right spots.
Her eyes fly open, the first time they have in a while. For a second she admires the night sky, then shifts her eyes lower to look at her partner for the evening.
In another life, she thinks she would have fallen for him. He’s honest, sweet; there’s no shortness of physical attraction - a quick jerk of his hips reminds her of this - and kind.
He always smiles at her, as if her mere presence brings him joy. He’s uncomplicated, uncompromising in his beliefs, understanding. There is, she thinks, nothing to dislike.
He begins fucking her harder and she gasps, snapped out of her thoughts by the building pressure between her legs; his cock seems to go on endlessly, filling her channel and stretching it with every pass.
A beautiful man. She wishes she could have loved him instead.
Halsin’s form hovers over her, muscles rippling everywhere and skin smelling of musk and honey; she traces a hand over his chest, feeling the swell of it as it shifts with every thrust. He looks at her, quizzical, slowing the movement of his hips.
“What is it, my heart?”
She frowns at the sound of his voice, considering how much to tell Halsin. A low groan escapes her as he thrusts in again; gods , as much as she is loath to admit it, he’s just as good.
He had alluded to the presence of some romantic feelings for her, feelings she knows she can never return. Not when she’s bound to someone else eternally; blood of her blood, soul of her soul, literally - as her sire she very well knows there would be no escaping him. Not that she’s even sure that’s what she wants at the moment.
All she wishes for is for her beloved to return to her; just that, and she thinks she can ignore everything else. For now. Eventually his refusal to turn her into a full vampire will put them at odds, she’s sure.
“It’s-“ she begins, pushing past the discomfort at the idea of breaking his heart. “This can’t happen again.”
His hips still and she feels a twinge of regret for speaking up mid-fuck. “We can stop whenever you wish.” He looks pensive for a moment, then continues. “Did Astarion not give you his approval?”
“He did. It’s me. I can’t…” She trails off. Astarion had given her approval, and seemed to not care at all. And why would he, when she’s utterly his, when the threat of being compelled is an actual possibility? He’s never done so, Ban thinks, never done more than raise his voice when they argue, but still.
In some ways tonight is a test. How far can she push him, and how far his patience lasts.
How much of him is still him.
Halsin smiles at her, a little wistful, cupping her cheek and making her meet his gaze. That breaks her from her reverie. “He is in your thoughts, the only one in your heart. I can see; your hands run through my hair, expecting curls where there are none. You search for a body that isn’t mine. Your eyes glaze over, seeking crimson ones.”
“Yes,” she chokes out, feeling guilty. “I am sorry, Halsin. I still want this, but it wouldn’t be fair to make this a long-term thing.”
“Then it shall not be.” Halsin’s voice carries no hint of resentment, but his face betrays his pain. His lips move to meet her own, the taste of honey filling her mouth as his tongue pushes in. She fights the urge to nip, to bite, to feed on that blood of his that must be oh-so-delectably sweet .
Another thrust, one that buries his cock to the hilt inside her; she’s still honestly shocked that she’s able to take him so well. Her mind wanders to when she first saw it: large and thick, much like the man himself, not without any veins but far less than Astarion ’s, and oh gods she shouldn’t be thinking of him right now, not when this feels so, so good, Halsin’s cock fully stretching her walls, mercilessly hitting her spot and everywhere else.
She’s here to forget about him, not compare him to Halsin, but it seems like her mind has other ideas. A deep breath and she focuses on the physical instead, on the feeling of Halsin inside her, all around her, comforting, and not what she needs, but enough.
Ban feels her climax begin to build, despite herself. Everything feels wrong - the loud, breathy moans, the large calloused hands gripping her, the weight against her body, and even that cock that arguably might be even better.
Because she didn’t want better. She wanted him , and he was gone, taken from her in one foolish move, one moment where her own strength faltered and she failed him.
Halsin thrusts in and out of her again, his pace increasingly frantic, whisking that train of thought away; it commands most, if not all of her attention. The sweet pleasure of being filled to the brim with every stroke, of being speared on something so large it almost feels too much - she finds herself keening, asking for more, harder, Halsin, harder, fuck me hard so I forget-
“Ast-”
Her climax takes her by surprise, hand flying to her mouth to muffle the rest of the word. Halsin’s relentless thrusting doesn’t slow; if anything it only intensifies as he chases his own release, the body above hers heavy and hot and beautiful in its own way, caught in his own throes of passion. She feels him start to come, a loud, guttural groan emanating from him as he joins her, spilling his seed where it shouldn’t be, where it should have only been -
“-arion.”
His eyes open, hearing his name, seeing for a second not the darkness of their room in the Elfsong, but a sky filled with stars. He feels pleasure: immense, stretching him to the brink and yet filling him with a deep satisfaction. His hips jerk once in response before he manages to cut off the link, cursing himself as the realization of what he had experienced sinks in.
He had figured he daren’t try peering into her mind. What was the point? She will be back on the morrow, his consort, bound to him for eternity whatever else she chooses to do, whoever else she chooses to fuck; the thought was cold comfort.
But having it thrust upon him reminds him exactly why he had thought better of it - because it would hurt. Knowing she’s found bliss with some other man, a bliss that should only come from him, stings, especially when he can feel her slipping away from him with every single day that passes.
Damn Halsin. Damn him for asking her, for daring to even try to steal her away. As if he ever had a hope against the Ascendant, as if -
As if he needed any more reminders he’s losing her.
Ban opens the door to see the Ascendant sitting on the bed, a bottle of wine in hand; he’s in his nightclothes, shirt unbuttoned. His nose wrinkles, face contorting into a sneer as she walks in, as if he’s smelled something unpleasant.
“You’re back, pet.” he says, not even looking towards her. Another swig of wine; she notices his hand trembles as it lowers the bottle from his lips.
“Didn’t think you’d stay up waiting for me.” She immediately brings her walls back up, walls that have been in use since the day of his ascension. It’s almost second nature now to let the hatred and indifference shine through when all she really feels is longing.
He scoffs. “I’m drinking, not waiting. Where you went and how long you took are not my concern, as I mentioned.” Astarion finally meets her gaze. To her shock his eyes are glassy - drunk. She’s never seen that before, which made sense: he’d never been able to, before. “I know you wouldn’t wander far, little love. How could you?”
The soft bark of false laughter that follows his words are a challenge she’s tempted to meet. Her gaze hardens.
“I might as well just leave then, no? You’re obviously drunk.”
“No.” Astarion stands, swaying on his feet. “You… will stay here.” A slight slur in his normally smooth timbre, and he takes several steps towards her, each one more unsteady than the one before.
Ban moves, instinct and love winning out, wrapping her arms around him; he seems to melt into her arms, pressing her against his chest; he nuzzles the top of her head, though whether through sheer drunkenness or affection, she doesn’t know. He’s warm, a feeling she still finds unnerving, and his heart races against her ear, a fact she dismisses as irrelevant.
Given the severity of his condition, however, she thinks she should stay.
“Let me get you to bed. You’re - gods.” In one move she sweeps him off his unstable feet, arms lifting him effortlessly. It takes a moment to wrangle the Ascendant to bed, given that he’s making a rather futile attempt to fight back.
“I’m not - you don’t -” He glares, although the effect is lessened by his condition, “-go. You don’t go.”
Please don’t go.
“Fine.” Ban dumps him unceremoniously on the bed, dropping him from a little higher than she probably should’ve; he groans as he lands and fixes the same angry look at her. “Rest. You’ll be your dear old self in the morning. I’m going to bathe.”
Astarion’s scowl deepens, still looking as if he’s smelling something distasteful.
“Thank the gods,” he hisses. “You reek.”