Work Text:
“Daddy!” Cazador lowers his hand at the desperate scream, watches as his useless spawn gives way to his precious boy. The boy sits on the floor in a heap, his eyelashes clumped with tears streaming down his cheeks, ears drooping in fear and sadness.
Astarion raises a trembling hand up to him as if to stop the next strike and in any other circumstance, Cazador would punish his insolence by breaking each one of his fingers. His lip wobbles as he hiccups on a cry and scrubs his eyes with his other hand.
“I sorry! Stop please!”
He looks positively pathetic, perfect.
Cazador coos and lowers into a crouch in front of his boy, he can’t help but laugh as Astarion flinches when he holds out a hand.
“Calm yourself child.”
Cazador holds his hand out to cup Astarion’s cheek, rubbing his thumb along his cheekbone.
Astarion whimpers and leans into Cazador’s palm, letting out a wet sound when Cazador runs his hand up into his hair.
“Come to your father Astarion. Seek your comfort in my embrace.”
Astarion scoots his bum across the floor as he all bust collapses into Cazador’s chest, hands gripping his shirt wiping his snotty nose into the expensive fabric.
He doesn’t mind the filth the boy brings.
“Come my little starling, we must wash.” Cazador directs as he lifts the boy off the dirty ground, Astarion is quick to cling to him and rest his wet cheek on Cazador’s shoulder. He’d be a fool if he didn’t notice the boy’s wet trousers on his hip.
Astarion makes a sad noise and tries to wiggle away, the movement causing the urine to further soak into Cazador’s clothes.
“Hush child. Do not fret. I am not displeased.” Cazador coos, patting the boys bottom as he carries them through the palace halls.
He passes Petras but stills any words the dog may have had with a pointed look. Ever the angry spiteful worm, jealous of his brother’s attentions.
“Ow.” Cazador is brought out of his thoughts when a lithe hand is forced into his face. The pale skin is marred with dirt and blood, knuckles lightly scuffed.
“Do not be silly Astarion, you are not hurt.”
Astarion pouts and shakes his hand in Cazador’s face again.
“Daddy ow.”
“Ast-” The boy’s lower lip pops out and wobbles, eyes wide and brows furrowed. Cazador sighs, bending his head down to place a gentle kiss to Astarion’s hand.
“Are you pleased now?”
Astarion grins and Cazador finds himself rolling his eyes, carrying on down the corridors.
“Sit there little one while I undress.” Astarion spares him one glance before he begins gliding his hands over the bubbles with a wide-eyed curious stare.
Cazador doesn’t waste his time to climb in behind the boy, bending his legs around his slim hips.
Astarion tilts his head back to meet his eyes and grins, holding a hand full of bubbles up and giggle-screams when Cazador blows them away. Astarion laughs as his hands slap into the water between their legs and Cazador finds himself huffing a laugh despite the water that escapes the tub.
Cazador allows his eyes to roam down the pale expanse of his son’s back, along the nobs of his spine eyes flickering over the raised bumps of his scars. As much a sign of ownership as the indented fang marks in his neck.
Cazador finds his lips tracing them now with his fingertips skimming along Astarion’s sides. His perfect boy freezes in his grasp, squirms with a whine.
“No thank you.”
And Cazador relents, laying a hand on the boy’s thighs and grabbing a soft flannel with the other instead and Astarion happily goes back to playing with the bubbles.
He settles with wiping down Astarion’s chest with the cloth, scrubbing away the muck and dried blood from his attempt at drawing the boy out. It would have to be a quick wash, focussing on just the body. The last time Cazador had attempted to wash his hair while in the bath with him, their bath had turned into a complicated game of chase with Astarion fluttering about the ceiling while a naked Cazador tried to reason with the small white bat to get back down again.
Cazador runs the cloth over the boy’s perfect nipples, slowly circling the pink bud watches as the milky suds run down Astarion’s chest. He once again skims his hand down his son’s front and over his ribs, it causes Astarion to giggle as the motion tickles him.
His dick twitches against the boy’s backside and Cazador shifts to push it closer to his cleft.
Before the boy fusses again, Cazador reaches over the side of the bath and picks up a little hollowed out wooden duck. He has no idea where it came from, but the boy adored the thing. As expected, Astarion snatches it away with a gasp and plunges it beneath the water, squealing when the toy jumps back out of the water.
With Astarion distracted, Cazador allows his hands to explore. The one previously resting on his boy’s thigh moves inwards, lightly stroking his fingers along his soft mound, spreading him open for his other hand to begin stroking at his soft insides. The water warms his body to the point that it feels like he could almost still be alive as if he was still that perfect boy bleeding out on the streets of Baldur’s Gate. Cazador looks between them at his hard cock, the head an angry red, it jerks when his fingertips stroke over Astarion’s opening. He pushes two in; it flutters around the ends of his fingers and Cazador must restrain himself from roughly shoving them into his boy. He sinks them to the knuckle before Astarion begins squirming again, looking over his shoulder with a frown, “No Daddy,” he pushes at Cazador’s wrists, “Don’t like it.”
Cazador lifts his hands in surrender, “My apologies little starling. I cannot always resist your sweet body,”
The man draws his hands back to himself, shifting Astarion forwards and away from him. He cannot help but bring that hand that was previously occupied between his son’s legs towards his face, he inhales the familiar musk and slides his fingers along his tongue. Even as it was bought through the water, Cazador could still taste him.
He grips himself as he forces his tongue between two of his fingers, eyes rolling back as he continues to taste Astarion’s cunt. Cazador strokes himself slowly, suckling on his fingers while he watches his sweet clueless boy play with his toy, the wooden duck bobbing in the water while his fists works away at his cock.
He groans and when Astarion looks back at him with his wide innocent eyes, he fastens the movement of his hand twisting his fist when he reaches the head.
He longs to sink into Astarion’s tight clutch, to fill him with his seed until his stomach rounds with his young. Cazador imagines him as he is now, young, and sweet and so confused as he asks his father about why his belly is swollen.
“My little- ah- my little bird, turn around and- hnn- go back to your game.” Cazador tilts his head back with another breathy moan, and ever the perfect boy, Astarion does as he is told finding his duck far more interesting than whatever game his father was playing.
Cazador’s dick twitches on the upstroke, his balls tighten and his thighs tense with his approaching orgasm. He adjusts so his head is held under the water, mere centimetres from Astarion’s milk white ass and he returns to forcing his tongue between the fingers that were previously playing between Astarion’s legs, he brings himself over the brink with the thoughts of feasting on his son’s delectable cunt.
His cock jerks with each spurt of ejaculate and Cazador watches as it fogs the water between them, painting Astarion’s ass while he is none the wiser.
Cazador reclines against the back of the basin shifting his foot around to find the chain for the plug and pulls it out.
“Astarion, you have until the water is drained and then it is time for you to come out.” Cazador stands and steps out of the bathtub, leaving Astarion to his own devices to towel himself dry. He pulls on a soft pair of trousers and a dressing gown ensuring to roll up the sleeves before he picks up the warm fluffy towel for Astarion.
Carrying the boy, now dressed in soft light blue overalls is exceedingly difficult when Astarion insists on squirming. He’s been trying to nuzzle his cheek into Cazador’s chest ever since he had been dried and dressed.
“You must wait little starling.”
It’s obvious that Astarion doesn’t agree with the sentiment, whining and pushing his face harder into Cazador’s chest, hand fighting to open the front of his dressing gown.
Cazador sighs, lowering them both into a wide armchair.
“I understand that you are hungry but you must pace yourself my boy,” Cazador shifts how the boy is curled up in his lap with one fist grabbing the lapel of his silk dressing gown, Astarion snurls and rubs his face into Cazador’s chest, “There is no need to rush.”
With a hand in the boy’s curls, Cazador guides his head down. He chokes on the gasp that threatens to escape when the boy finds his nipple, sharp teeth breaking the flesh around the areola followed by the immediate suction.
Astarion’s ears wiggle, an immature and distasteful trait that Cazador was unable to remove, yet he finds the bothersome movements quite endearing. He can’t help but reach a finger out to skim along the shell, sighing a laugh when the boy huffs and the ear tip flicks. Astarion’s eyes flick up at him, brows furrowed in a frown and not for the first time, Cazador finds himself once again fantasising about a time before Astarion became truly his, with his baby blue eyes, his attitude and endless childlike self-confidence. He was a truly insufferable brat and Cazador had to have him.
The red that bled into the blue, like the blood that leached into the puddles between the stones when the boy was found that fateful night, was so like his own and fuelled many a sick mind’s incest fantasies of the two of them. It fuelled his fantasies.
Nothing was quite like seeing his own eyes staring up at him full of tears as pink lips wrapped around his cock, the boy struggling to swallow as his Master, his father, pushed deeper.
Cazador looks down at his boy again, his face relaxed as he pulls dreg after dreg of his father’s blood into his mouth in a noisy suckle and his throat clicking when he swallows. Astarion’s pink lips were almost stained red and Cazador had to refrain from adjusting himself in his pants when he peaks Astarion’s tongue run over his bottom lip and against the swollen bud of his nipple.
It's not long before Astarion’s eyes begin to droop, the rhythmic suckling spacing further apart until they stop altogether with Astarion simply puffing warmth breaths against the peaked bud.
Come morning, Astarion would be back to his insufferable self, testing every ounce of Cazador’s patience. But for now, he was sweet, quiet, utterly susceptible to Cazador’s every whim.