Baldur's Gate 3 Smut - Tumblr Posts

moon sick. | astarion

›› pairing: astarion x f!reader

›› wordcount: 2.5k

›› genre: smut, established relationship

›› rating: 18+, mdni

›› synopsis: whilst on the road, you get your period. astarion, being the loving, caring, supportive boyfriend he is, offers to help. he has no ulterior motives. obviously.

›› warnings: period sex, bloodplay, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk

you wake with a start, astarion’s cold arm a comforting weight across your waist. you can’t think what could have possibly woken you up so suddenly, as you listen for any untoward noises around camp. but there’s only astarion’s steady, gentle breathing behind you and gale’s obnoxious snoring echoing from the other end of the clearing.

as you settle back down on your bedroll, however, you become aware of something sticky and wet between your legs. could be that a wet dream concerning your beloved has you in such a state, but you don’t remember dreaming of him last night. no, now that your senses are returning to you, you remember that last night was reserved for another visit from your so-called guardian. so what … ?

you toss your end of the blanket aside and groan, throwing your head back against the pack you’ve set out for a makeshift pillow. doing so earns you another yelp; must have made contact with one of the stems of the many apples wedged into your supply bag.

astarion is on his feet in an instant, startling you; you weren’t even aware he was awake. not that elves ever truly sleep. it always slightly unnerves you to feel him levitating beside you in his meditative state. ❝ you’re hurt. ❞ his voice is rough, thick with inertia. ❝ i swear i’ll find whoever did this and bleed them dry. we should never have trusted that damned cleric; shar this and shar that. i’ll shove her blessed shar right up her — ❞

he’s already kicking his own pack aside to stomp his way out of the tent when you hiss, ❝ astarion! ❞

luckily he’s not too aggravated to stop and give you a glance back so you can explain in a low murmur, ❝ it’s my cycle … ❞

astarion stops short, one pale hand clutched to his chest. ❝ oh … i — ❞ he waves that same hand now toward the opening of his tent. ❝ i thought … ❞

❝ i know what you thought, ❞ you sigh, more weary knowing what’s to come over the next 7 days than you are of him, than you could ever be of him. ❝ but it’s not. so just come back to bed. please? ❞

❝ i thought you’d never ask … ❞ he purrs, back to his normal self.

unfortunately, you’re doubled over in pain before he’s even halfway back.

❝ i knew you were in pain. ❞ astarion’s back at your side in a flash. ❝ just tell me who and i’ll — ❞

❝ i am, ❞ you gasp, ❝ in pain. but … not because anyone hurt me. well, more like mother nature cursed me. ❞

a particularly bad cramp seizes you and your hand flies out, clutching the front of astarion’s silky tunic. you press your fingers in to feel his cold, broad chest. the sensation calms you a bit … until yet another bout of pain rolls through your midsection.

icy fingers find yours, ghosting over your knuckles. ❝ shall i … see if the druid can make you something? ❞

you shake your head, tugging at his shirt. ❝ just lay with me. please. ❞

astarion’s skin is blessedly cool against yours, as it always is. you lean into him, pressing your face against his frigid neck, soothing your burning cheeks.

his glacial hands find the edge of your tunic, and then the small of your back, which helps more than he could possibly know. you shudder against him, pushing, trying to get more of him.

❝ you know … ❞ astarion sniffs, delicate voice very close to your ear. ❝ i have heard of one thing that is guaranteed to relieve moon sickness. ❞

pulling back, you glance curiously up at him.

he has that rakish grin on his face that you’ve come to know all too well in the past weeks. his reddened eyes roll away from you. ❝ come now, pup. you must know what i mean … sex. ❞ your heart jumps into your throat at the thought; you’re sure astarion can feel it beating harder against his own chest.

suddenly, his mouth is just under your ear, teeth rasping against the exact place he’s fed from you dozens of times before. ❝ i can smell it, my love. ❞

you don’t answer immediately; while you can’t deny the thought appeals to you, if for no other reason than to rid yourself of these damnable cramps, you’re also apprehensive. astarion feeding from your neck is one thing — still intimate, but relatively normal by vampire standards. to have astarion feed down there, on that blood, feeding from your womb …

❝ you’re right, it’s a bad idea, absolutely disgusting. i don’t know why i — ❞

❝ do it. ❞

❝ eh … hm? ❞

❝ do it, ❞ you repeat, grasping onto him for dear life as another squeezing, crushing shock of pain settles in your stomach. ❝ please, astarion. i can’t take it anymore. ❞

it’s been many moons since your cycle has been this bad. traveling on the road without proper food or rest may finally be catching up to you, exacerbating things. not much you can do about that until you reach the city, though.

other than letting your vampire lover drink your blood, of course.

laying you gently back without another complaint, astarion slips the blanket off of you and reaches to undo your breeches.

anxiety overtakes you; there’s already blood on your trousers and the blanket, you’re going to have to wash them in the river as soon as you’re able. you can’t even imagine the scene underneath your pants … but you’re about to find out.

gently, astarion prizes the trousers from your legs, then gasps softly. ❝ oh, my love … ❞

prying your eyes from the ceiling of the tent, you finally look down. astarion is there, of course, looking lovely as always. except, however, the lines on his face look deeper, almost carved, and the dark circles under his eyes are darker, his eyes redder.

another spell of panic grips you; bright red blood is smeared across your inner thighs.

astarion looks dizzy as he takes you in, cold hands cradling the outsides of your legs. you’re about to apologize and shove him away, tell him this is a mistake, in fact you will ask halsin to make you something — and that’s when astarion mutters, ❝ you are exquisite, ❞ and dives in to have his first taste.

the feeling of his tongue on your thighs makes you shiver, and the cool night air wafting in from the tent flap isn’t helping. you grab the clean end of the blanket and drape your upper half, canting your hips up to tell astarion what it is you truly want.

because even through all the anxiety, there’s also a bubble of arousal blooming between your legs. astarion can’t tell, of course, not through all the blood down there, but you sure as hell can. you have the most perfect creature you’ve ever set eyes on between your legs; how could you not be aroused?

❝ all in due time, ❞ astarion chuckles, voice muffled against your thighs as he continues to clean you up. thoroughly. too thoroughly.

❝ you always tease, ❞ you whine, knocking one of your knees against his ribcage.

this time when his gaze flashes sharply to you, his eyes are the reddest you’ve ever seen them. it makes you shake.

astarion’s nails dig into your hips, deliciously, wickedly. you tremble, reaching for him. he chuckles and kisses the inside of one of your wrists, which leaves a smear of blood. ❝ always such a needy little pup for me, aren’t you? ❞

you don’t even have time to nod before he dives back in, his mouth exactly where you want it this time. his lips suction around your clit, tongue lapping out lower down to scoop a sizeable pearl of blood into his mouth.

this time, astarion is the one who shakes. he lays his cheek against your still-bloody thigh and shudders. ❝ you’re going to be the death of me, ❞ he sighs, and you can see him skirting his tongue around his mouth, flitting over his lips, savoring you.

you huff. ❝ you’ll be of me, too, if you don’t keep going. ❞

❝ so pushy, ❞ your lover mutters, but there’s absolutely no heat in his words as he obeys your command and buries his face back into your blood-soaked cunt.

for a while you just lie back and enjoy yourself, and let astarion enjoy himself as well. his arms are strong around your legs, holding you in place so you can’t squirm away. it feels way too damn good, you may have been tempted to try. but as it is, you can’t do anything but revel in the silky feeling of astarion’s tongue lapping up everything you have to give him, his fangs catching every so often on your clit, making you see stars.

at some point, you glance down at him and gasp. ❝ your shirt! ❞

you know how much he prides himself on his physical appearance, and now there’s blood staining the front ruffles of his normally immaculate tunic.

he glances down and tuts, frowning. ❝ oh well. it’ll have to go with the rest. ❞ just like that, he rips it off and tosses it with your soiled trousers.

he must be in heaven, you suspect, if he’s willing to discard his cherished clothing for you.

now shirtless, astarion gives one last gentle kiss to your clit and then slowly starts to climb your body. there’s blood dripping from his chin, staining the rest of the blanket wrapped around you. but more importantly, his broad chest is skating up the expanse of your bloody cunt as he comes, and your clit throbs seeing all that red coating his torso.

❝ astarion! ❞ you gasp, and he grins, mouth full of your blood.

❝ i’m loathe to ask you for a kiss, ❞ he whispers, so low you can barely hear him. ❝ just one. i promise. ❞

you swallow thickly, and he waits for you to lean up, pressing your lips to his in the softest kiss you can manage. blood squishes between you, and you can feel it coating your lips as you lie back down.

one lap of your tongue against your bottom lip and you grimace, spitting and rubbing at your mouth with the back of one hand.

astarion laughs heartily as you mutter, ❝ ugh, not for me. ❞

❝ more for me, ❞ astarion says, almost gleefully.

he’s obviously preparing to get back to it, but you keep him close with your hands on his shoulders. ❝ i want you. ❞

brows furrowed, astarion squeezes your waist. ❝ darling, you have me. ❞

❝ inside, ❞ you beg quietly, which you know enjoys immensely.

your next step might be a mistake, but you decide to chance it. bracing yourself with your legs wrapped around him, you thrust up, dragging your wetness along the front of his trousers. you can feel that he’s hard, and now there’s blood all over his pants. you’re hoping he won’t mind, considering his tunic is already ruined for the night as well.

luckily he doesn’t seem to, dark gaze sweeping down over the two of you covered in your blood, and then back up. ❝ i thought you’d never ask. ❞

his trousers quickly follow his tunic, erection jutting up between your legs.

❝ he looks happy, ❞ you giggle, as his swollen head prods at your blood-soaked entrance.

❝ to see you? always. ❞

having astarion inside of you is normally a relief, a release of all the rampant, pent up emotions this journey has bestowed upon you.

tonight is different.

with all that blood flowing south, your womb is aching, you're sore and swollen as astarion’s cock spears through your lips. every thrust sends a fresh flow of blood down his shaft, which earns you a tight growl from the vampire as he takes the backs of your knees in hand and shoves your thighs back toward your chest, eager to get even deeper inside of you.

and you’re eager to have him, nails digging into his chiseled back, the hard marble of his jaw knocking against your shoulder as his lips, slick with blood, find your ear again. ❝ are you feeling better, pet? does my cock soothe that ache inside of you? the ache that raged inside of you, until you met me? until i filled you up in every lovely way possible? ❞

his words make your brain go haywire, knees shaking around his ribcage, toes curling, your mouth rubbing comfortingly at his cool shoulder.

more than that, you do feel better. the more aroused you become, the more blood flows out of you, the less painful your cramps become. until you’re pushing down against him, trying to ride him at the same time as he’s shoving himself inside of you with reckless abandon. until you can’t remember why you started this in the first place, other than to wind up begging for him to finish inside of you.

❝ inside. please, astarion, inside … ❞ it’s hard to even think clearly enough to form words, your mind consumed with the sight of his beautiful body moving atop yours.

you assume he’ll make you beg, as he so often does; he loves hearing the desperate, pleading tone in your voice that tells him all he needs to know — you belong to him.

but he doesn’t. he fucks into you as hard as he ever has, his thick cock gliding against your engorged walls, making your eyes roll back.

and then the talking starts. the words that make you wish you knew whether or not vampires can actually have children. ❝ you want me to get you pregnant, love? want your belly to swell with my child inside of it? i will wait on you hand and foot, i promise. i would love seeing you walk around knowing you hold my heir, that you protected my seed so well that it grew into a child inside of you. ❞ astarion pauses momentarily to laugh, tugging your earlobe between his teeth. ❝ with all this blood, i know you must be fertile. ❞

both of you share a laugh, briefly.

and when you cum, together, he sinks his teeth into your neck with nothing but a quiet grunt, cockhead twitching and spurting inside of you.

you mewl softly, feeling the vampire trembling and shaking as he empties himself into you. your hands pet through his hair, soothe the back of his neck, across the scars circling his back.

the pain from before is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a warm, fizzy feeling sitting low in your gut. astarion is bracing himself on his elbows above you, with obvious effort.

you pull him down to lay atop you; he’s not exceptionally heavy anyway.

❝ i love you, ❞ he sighs, nestling his face, chin still slick with blood, against your collarbone. ❝ and … promise me we can do that again. ❞

❝ i love you. and i promise. ❞

Chapter Summary:

Bonnie and Astarion strangely reunite after five years of separation.

»»——⍟——««

Chapter 1: Eye on the Sparrow

Ao3

Next Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 5k

Pairing: Astarion x female western bard OC

CW: Language, Violence, References to Trauma

»»——⍟——««

Loud roars roll out of the Elfsong Saloon like thunderstorms tumbling down from the eastern mountains. The old fir building is abnormally packed for the beginning of the week, damn near every civilian poking around in Baldur’s Gate spilling out of its batwing doors. Oil lamps hang outside, blazing like devils around the raucous place. 

Astarion approaches the saloon, garnet eyes nearly aglow with want in the pitch dark night, lured by the faint scent of blood. Not just any bouquet, mind, but one that belonged to a woman named Bonnie Sparrows: enemy; friend; brief lover. It’s been nearly five years since he last saw the elf, having hightailed it out of her vicinity shortly after they finished what they set out to do, yet her aroma stuck around in his mind like a habit he couldn’t quit. The sweetest swill he’s ever had: honeyed milk and sugar violets. 

He runs his tongue along his upper gums, trying to alleviate the ache in his fangs without any success. Dangerous move, Bon, the vampire smirks to himself, knowing she’s brought him there on purpose as an open invitation he couldn’t refuse. See, that’s the thing about Bonnie, she did everything with intention. Foolhardy or not, she deliberately put all her thoughts and actions into whatever goal she was meaning to achieve. 

As his boots drag him past a few horses tied to a wooden hitch post, he hears them softly snort, sensing his existence as the predator that could feast upon them at any moment. He eyes the closest one, pupil shifting to the side to view it better. “Vile creatures. More prone to biting than I am…well, almost,” he mutters under his breath. 

“My, my, is that the renowned gunslinger Astarion ‘Crimson Eye’ Ancunín or do my eyes deceive me?” a high-pitched voice twangs, interrupting him from chastising the unsettled equines. 

Astarion lifts his head to see an amethyst-skinned tiefling leaning seductively against the outdoor railing, breasts giving him a generous greeting as they pour over the top of her silken bodice. She’s clearly one of the lost, a prostitute that’s seen too much, judging by the dark bags under her eyes. His stomach drops, wondering if he had looked as raddled as she does before his former master died. He reckons he was fortunate he couldn’t see his reflection anymore during that era, the last of his repressed humanity at risk for disappearing if he had ever gotten a glimpse of himself. Two centuries of brutality and starvation does something to a person that never does seem to leave their outer appearance, always embedded just beneath the pores. 

A silver curl peeks out from under a weathered black cattleman hat as he tips the edge at the lady. “Good evening, darlin’,” he replies politely.

The woman smiles wide, lifting layers of purple petticoats to curtsy. “Now how come I never see you at Sharess’s Caress with a mare or stallion in your lap, hmm? Handsome feller like you would be treated like royalty there!” 

Astarion can’t fault the whore for being attracted to him, he is a beautiful man, anyone with at least one good eye could see that. Head full of snowy waves, opalescent skin rivaling the moon’s luminance, and a sharp jawline, he’s as every bit of a refined-looking gentleman that immortality would allow. Not to mention, he possesses an educated mind with a debonair that easily beguiles others that is typically uncommon in western Faerûn.

Only hiccup he has to worry about is the populace discovering he’s a vampire spawn. Creatures like him aren’t well-received—perhaps understandably—especially in recent years. Taking up a vocation as a bounty hunter has allowed him space from people suspecting, tending to be more interested in his attractiveness and marksmanship than that fact that his accent seems to lack the same present day drawl or that he never exhibits an appetite for mortal food. 

Still, a frown falls upon his face. He understands the woman is just trying to make a living, enticing him for coin in exchange for her adept services, but the glint in her eye tells him she meant what she implied. It didn’t matter the amount of time that had passed since he was last forced to use his body for another’s pleasure—much like the soiled doves at the brothel house—folks still continue to view him as only a sexual object. 

He takes a moment to check the threading in his cowhide gloves while he rearranges his thoughts. “As much as I appreciate your tempting proposal, I am far too busy draining this city dry of all its bad blood,” he says, showing off his pearly white teeth.

The tiefling swiftly descends the stairs in front of the saloon, meeting him at the bottom. Her hand wraps around his bicep and she pulls herself flush against his chest. “Well, how about you take me inside and buy me a drink then? And if you’re feeling up to it later,” she purrs into his ear, dragging a manicured nail down his jawline. “you’re more than welcome to wet your wick inside me.”

His breathing stops.

No.

She’s pushing and pushing.

No.

Frisking the point of his ear.

No.

He doesn’t want this.

No. 

This isn’t okay.

No. 

NO!

Anger glazes over his eyes as he feels his body freeze from her touch. He focuses on an object, any object. There. Decorative beads hanging from her horns. That’ll do. The colors are dim at first, but then burst with vibrancy. He takes a breath, feels his chest rise and sink. Two men exit the building, singing a drunken ditty. They both come into clear focus as another puff of air enters his lungs. And then sound begins to break through the fuzz in his ears. Laughter. Words. The clinking of cups. Finally, a familiar heartbeat. Bonnie.

He is safe and he is here. 

He is safe and he is here.

He is safe and he is here.

Astarion doesn’t seek out the woman’s face, but instead snatches her wrist, yanking it back. “This is the only warning you’ll get to keep your hands off me,” he warns with a hiss. 

Her bronze irises dilate, shocked at his reaction. “Didn’t mean to upset you none,” she laughs nervously, flinching as though she were used to a man handling her in a rougher way than he did. “I—” her tone lowers, violet cheeks darkening with blush. “I can give you a fellatio, if you’d prefer. But please don’t tell no one. They wouldn't take kindly to knowing I did something like that.”

Nasty fluid burbles in his upper throat as he releases her. The woman scuttles a couple steps backwards and rubs her wrist. “Just…stop talking,” he manages, panic subsiding as his surroundings sharpen into view again. “I would suggest flying back to your coop for the rest of tonight.” He dips into his vest pocket to pull out a few gold coins, tossing them her way. 

With cupped palms, she catches the shiny discs. “Truly am sorry about what I’d done,” she apologizes, bending down to shove the gold into her boot. “If you ever change your mind, I’ll be waitin’.” She’s additional apologies and hair ringlets swaying as she delivers a courteous bow, gradually departing down the street back into the night that beckons her.

The pale elf pauses, allowing an ounce of pride to wash over him for setting a boundary. He’s getting better at buffering those intrusive episodes as they occur, inner wounds covering themselves in scar tissue, lessening the pain with every midnight chime. It’s a lonesome road he sometimes travels, struggling to counterbalance his trauma and daily life built up by thousands of former strangers’ hands gliding down his statuesque form like a cactus prickling at his flesh for a single night of passion he didn’t have a choice in. Touching him had been a death sentence. For his conquests. For his abuser. For his broken soul. 

Gruff men’s brays explode from the saloon when Astarion belatedly enters. Feathered fans open, intentionally tickling patrons' noses as their feminine owners entertain with songs and sparkling tasseled shoes. Liquor pours on end into glasses of all sizes. A slurred heated discussion concludes when a businessman lays unconscious on the floor next to his punched out teeth.

But, amongst the boisterous crowd, the vampire finds her. 

Bonnie is leaning against the bar with that coppery red hair resembling a fox’s fur, loosely cascading over her shoulders, with booze pressed to her lips like she’s been a regular since the place was built. Her worn pecan colored hat is pulled down enough to solely hide the top portion of her face, revealing only a pair of heart-shaped pouters as pink as sunbeams passing through a cloud. 

He’s admittedly apprehensive to approach the lady; they didn’t part on the best of terms. And life changes people, for better or worse. The Bonnie he knew may be lost to a past he would have to mourn in the dust. Was he prepared for that? To slough her from his memory like a rattlesnake sheds its skin. He furrows his thick brows, contemplating if he should leave before she notices him. No, he needs to properly face her. Put things to bed so they could both move on without any lingering questions.

Besides, unbeknownst to her, he’s there for far more than a trip down nostalgia lane or his lust after her crimson draft. Woman has warrants out on her name and a man has a bounty to collect. 

Spurs clank as he trudges along towards the bar, spiked rowels tapping the hardwood beneath him. Astarion offers a nod to the dancing ladies and buzzed buckaroos on his way, avoiding their conversations until he reaches his destination standing next to Bonnie. He billows out his jacket, positioning his elbows onto the countertop. 

“What can I get you, honey?” an older barmaid riddled with white sunspots inquiries as she cleans out a glass for him.

“You’ll break my cold heart if you tell me you don’t serve red wine in this fine establishment,” he replies, turning on his charm with a wink.

“We do try to keep folks happy ‘round here,” she chuckles, obviously falling for his flirtatious demeanor as his head carelessly props up on his fist. She searches a shelf behind her, procuring a green bottle, then pours the maroon drink into his cup. “Here you are. That’ll be two silvers.”

“Thank you.” He slides the change across the counter. “Extra for a tip.” The barmaid smiles at his charity, collecting the money, ready to serve another customer that’s walked up.

Bonnie’s heart starts pulsing wildly, a bison stampede alive in Astarion’s ears, knowing that she immediately recognizes his voice. She’s anxious. Bonnie “The Duet” Sparrows is anxious. Around…him. This is a woman he saw take down ten bandits while she hummed a piano sonata to herself without breaking a sweat! 

He can’t help but grin to himself, smug with satisfaction that he caught her off guard. Second time he accomplished the feat with her. First being when he unexpectedly fucked her on his mortal grave after Cazador perished. He never had something so godsdamned ethereal beneath him, with his bite marks adorning her peachy skin, claiming her as his own. 

Then, he ran. Leaving her a shivering babe on his unhallowed tombstone. Terrified to want. Doubtful his yearning for an intimate connection without sex would ever be sated. 

“Here for the show, cowboy?” Bonnie asks, smiling into her glass of whiskey. Her tone is peculiar: sultry; richer; an octave lower. Not what he remembers. 

Astarion chances a quick glance at Bonnie’s side profile, breath stuttering when he makes out the details of a turkey vulture feather tied into a short braid tucked behind her ear. After all the misery he brought on her, she kept that ugly thing like some memento she couldn’t let go. Maybe she’s forgotten about its significance and just likes it dangling from her strands, but that wouldn’t match who she is. She’s wearing it on purpose.

He doesn’t remark on the accessory, opting to leave their reunion unsoured. Instead, he recollects how she got that feather in the first place. Her gang was starving, food scarce on the frontier, and he assisted her in hunting down some vultures as a last resort. At first, he agreed for his own selfish reasons, needing to further manipulate her into trusting and caring for him so she’d help him smoke his master. Then, Bonnie had plucked out one of the bird’s feathers, telling him that the critters reminded her of him: lives circling, harbinging death, but hiding light in their wings. He told her his wings shattered ages ago and she squeezed his hand something sweet and thoughtful, murmuring that “stars shine brightest in the dark.” Astarion hadn’t ever been touched in a way without someone expecting relations in return. From that moment on, his feelings towards her were complicated. 

“I guess that depends on what kind of show this is and if it’s worth my while,” Astarion answers, nonchalantly sipping his wine. 

Bonnie wets her lips. “Mm. I think you’ll be fond of the main event, but it’s the grand finale that’s guaranteed to really shoot off.” 

He smirks, pleased that their coded exchanges haven’t altered. Though, he does briefly wonder if she brought him here to get rev—

“Not here for revenge if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” she clarifies as if reading his mind. Thoughtlessly, her fingertip traces along her glass’s rim. “Got other business that brought me here.”

A sigh of relief quietly sneaks through his lips. He turns, wine in hand, back now pressed into the counter as he scans the locals. “Then, I’m all pointy ears.”

Bonnie nods in the direction of an unkempt man and woman—drows—trying to avoid her gaze. “Two fleas with black bandanas and a red sigil stitched in.”

Scarlet eyes narrow at the couple, studying their behavior. They’re jittery, anticipating things to probably end badly. Astarion hears them chattering fast, but can’t make out what they’re saying amidst all the excitement. Helping Bonnie out of this would be the perfect way for him to capture her. He knows she intends to pay him, hence her blood she deliberately spilt to persuade him there. Feeding on her will get him close enough to tie her up, a flawless plan.

“What did you do for those roughnecks to trail you?”

“I lived,” she breathes out somberly. 

He lifts a brow, curiosity begging to be indulged. Can he trust her? Her bounties say otherwise. But, emotions are a hell of a blindside when it comes to someone he once cared for. Cheekily, he taps twice at his fang. “And what’s my reward if I decide to engage?”

World is in slow motion when her head pivots, craning her neck to regard him directly. Wintery blue eyes and sun-kissed freckles dabbled across her delicate rosy upper cheeks, welcome him from underneath her hat. She’s aged a bit, couple more smile lines added. Her weight gain has filled out her curves in a way that dampens his mouth. 

Hells, how is she still so lovely?

“I think you know what your reward is,” she simpers, tugging her scarf down to show him the surface level cut she made on the side of her neck. 

Nostrils flare, transfixed by the coagulated droplets along the cut’s seam. “After this, we need to talk,” Astarion fans out shakily, somewhat keeping his composure.

Bonnie blows him a kiss. “Don’t worry, I won’t slip away—not yet anyways.” 

Least she’s being honest.

“How are we doing this?” he asks, setting his barely drunk glass down. 

She rustles in her back trouser pocket, presenting a minted coin between her index and thumb fingers. “Remember how to do the ‘Whistlin’ Bullseye’?”

He scoffs at her, crossing his arms defiantly. “Really? That’s your grand strategy?! Why don’t I just convince them to join me outside and dispose of them the old-fashioned way: my teeth.”

A finger flies up to her mouth. “Shh, keep your voice down, will ya? Listen, I’m not looking to kill them, just…run them off. It’ll make things worse otherwise.”

His gaze softens. “Bon, I—“

“‘Starion, please,” she pleads, flicking her lengthy lashes up at him.

Astarion’s head is spinning, lost in her cool eyes. He never could say no to her. “Fine. We do this quick.”

She smiles big. Hopeful. Spirited, lovely, Bonnie. “You know the signal.” She rolls up her sleeves and squats down to pick up a fiddle case he hadn’t noticed, unlatching it to remove the instrument inside. The rest of her whiskey is shot down her gullet in a singular gulp. “Now wait here, I have a show to do.” 

He watches her hips sway—ones he had dug his fingers into for dear life as she moaned his name—leading herself to a neighboring table already occupied. One of the men seated respectfully allows her to hold onto his shoulder as she hoists herself up onto the furniture. The vampire stays put, patiently skimming his digits along his revolver’s grip stuffed into his waistband.

“Could I have everyone’s attention?” Bonnie hollers, waving that fiddle bow in the air. Head after head rotates in her direction, voices dying on imbibed tongues. A few wolf whistles rise and fall. Astarion rolls his eyes at that. Bastards are nowhere in her league. 

“Much obliged,” she says, tipping her hat. “I know too many women aren’t known for playing the fiddle out in these parts, but if you’d allow me, I’d love to play a song for y’all.”

“Sweetheart, you can do anything you want to us!” a random person yells aloud, causing the building to erupt with mirthful hysterics. 

In the racket, Astarion tracks the couple from earlier. They’re whispering harshly now, absorbed in a private argument. What is he up against? One…no…two measly pistols by his observation. Idiots. 

Bonnie is grinning ear to ear, pretending their pathetic attempts to flirt are funny. “Alright, settle down.” A wave of silence rushes through the crowd again. It’s been a long while since Astarion last heard her sing, longer yet since he listened to that chordophone in her hands. 

He waits, dislodging his ear canals of any interference. He waits, a twist of elation behind his ribs. He waits, desiring to be captivated with her nightingale song that once soothed his hurt. He waits and waits and waits, but she does not sing. 

What Bonnie does do, is furiously run that bow along the fiddle’s strings like an exorcism she’s committed to jigging out. It’s odd, unprecedented even, that she’s not purifying the room with a seraphic hymn. Usually, she belts out a chorus in between her fiddle solos, expanding her diaphragm that naturally soaks the spotlight. 

Astarion’s sight clings on the slightest twitch at her lips, quivering as it does when she’s mulling. Why isn’t she singing? He nips his inner cheek. There’s a begotten memory of her, a spell that breaks inside him in a way that history’s been rewritten. Could something awful have happened? Bonnie’s whole life is attached to music, to song. He could ask her, set aside their wavering qualms tangling them together, but he wasn’t sure it was wise to crack open that coffin containing their heartstrings when he didn’t know what else would spew out.

Boots are tip-tapping on top the table as she continues to play, maintaining her hastening tempo. The audience is clapping, encouraging her with praise. Sweat bolts down her temples and disappears beneath her shirt’s collar. Lit lantern twines are quaking as notes sporadically bounce from the ceiling rafters. Bonnie’s eyes raise from the fingerboard on her instrument, sweeping out to find Astarion. She winks at him, a cue that it’s time to let his silver fly. 

It’s the coin she tosses above her that kicks off the havoc. She whistles, shrill and crisp, then crouches low with her hands basketing over her ears. Astarion clutches his gun, ripping it from the front of its snuggled up place in the front of his pants, and shuts one eye as he aims at the coin.

Rhapsody. That’s what he calls the revolver. One of two he owns. Pewter and gold, rubies inlet into the frame. Cazador Szarr’s old weapon that Astarion nabbed, vowing to cleanse its evil sins by practicing being a do-gooder where it counts—somewhat. No one cares about murder when it comes to killing the right folks and he did enjoy the added tidbit of instilling a little fear that comes with being a gunsman.

Smoke plumes appear after the gun’s recoil, happening faster than the eye can see. Identifying the culprit seems less important than chancing death and the saloon soon ignites into screams. People scamper about like pill bugs until the place is cleared out, leaving behind half-filled spittoons and toppled liquor cups rolling gently in place. 

Bonnie hops down from the table, rushing to the doors to peer out into the evening. “Don’t see anyone lingering. Can you sense them?”

Astarion walks to the table, bending to retrieve the fallen coin. It’s warm in his palm, his gun’s bullet fragment lodged into the circular object’s engravings. He inhales a practiced breath through his nose. “The only scent I detect is yours, darlin’. Seems like your rats got scared away by your reckless scheme.”

She laughs. “It worked, didn’t it?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I still believe my method would have been less sloppy, but seeing as we haven’t seen each other in years, think of it as a ‘welcome back’ gift.”

“Then, I guess I should count my lucky stars you showed up.” She saunters to the bar. He can hear her shuffling around, glass tinks echoing, whiskey pouring into a glass. She whirls, facing him with drinks in her hands, one being the wine he purchased earlier. “Have a drink with me while we chat? Before you get your payment. For old time’s sake.”

There’s something in the vacillating fog that separates them, warning him to decline. He should harden himself to her, seize her for his bounty, and leave. Praying to himself for the courage to ignore that kind smile and valor she retains. His mind doesn’t catch up until after he already agrees, shaking his head more eagerly than he expects. 

They sit across from each other at a fairly spotless table, Bonnie sliding his glass to him. “So, a bounty hunter, eh? Can’t say I saw that comin’.”

He places the glass rim between his lips, allowing the burgundy liquid to splash against his teeth. “Let’s not avoid talking about that little stunt you just pulled. Why is the Baenre Gang on your hide?” Astarion asks, intently staring at her. 

The gleam on her expression dissipates. 

“Did you think I didn’t know?” he persists, thinking about the cherry-red spiderweb sigil embroidered on the drow’s bandanas. “Baenre has been expanding their territory this past year, causing quite the panic throughout Faerûn.”

She purses her mouth. “I don’t particularly want to talk about them.”

Astarion glugs the rest of his wine. “No? Then, let’s talk about these warrants that are out for your immediate arrest. Since when did Bonnie Sparrows reduce herself to nothing more than an imprudent criminal?” he chides.

Bonnie blinks at him, tilting her head. “Why don't you remind me what crimes I’m being accused of?” she goads.

He holds his hand and starts to count. “Robbing a stagecoach, stealing a horse, arson.” His skin pinches together in the middle of his brows, distraught by the last offense he means to speak. “And the murder of the Harper Clan’s leader, Jaheira. I don’t understand, Bon, wasn’t she like a mother to you?”

Tears well up as she bites her lip. “How do you know I was the one who committed them?”

Astarion’s fist knocks on the table twice. “Eyewitnesses. Bullets similar, if not, identical to that peacemaker you’ve always been packing.”

“You believe the evidence?”

“It’s overwhelmingly pointing to you, unless you can come up with reliable alibis.”

Bonnie swivels her head, evading his scrutinizing glare. He thickly swallows, partially dreading what he has to do next. Rhapsody raises from under the table, aimed at her elegant neck. She slowly sails those almost translucent baby blues to the firearm and fucking smirks.

“I don’t care about most of your transgressions—hells, some of it even sounds fun—but killing the savior of the Shadowlands has turned the whole continent inside out and they want blood…your blood,” he says, clicking back the gun’s hammer. “Be grateful it’s me that found you and not someone else that would crucify you on the spot. Given our history, the very least I can do is be fair to you.”

The room begins congesting with her disruptive sardonic laughter, thrashing her head back, something tittering on denial and sorrow. She holds up her hands in the air. “Suppose I need to fess up! Sure, I did it and I enjoyed every moment of it,” she growls, suddenly throwing her peacekeeper and a knife onto the table. “Here. Confiscate them. Let’s get this over with before dawn melts your ass to a crisp and I’m blamed for your death as well.”

Astarion eases himself from his seat, revolver steady on his bounty. Gradually, he inches closer to her, watching—always watching—her movements. Have to expect the unexpected with a woman like Bonnie, no matter how tenderhearted she might be. He gestures the gun tip upwards, motioning her to stand, proceeding to unhook ropes from his wide belt. 

“Hands and legs together,” he instructs. “I think we both understand that if you try anything, it’ll end very badly for you.” Of course she knows; she’s been privy to his gunwork on several occasions. He’s a swifter, deadlier draw and if she tries to tempt fate by running, either his lead or fangs would get her.

She stands, kicking back her chair, putting her arms in front of her body as requested. The spawn decocked the weapon’s hammer, cramming it back into his pants. He shakes out one of the ropes, folding it in half, and sets forth on wrapping it around her wrists. 

He’s glad he has gloves on, skin to skin contact guaranteeing he’ll burst into flames as his fingers coast against her flesh. A cinch is formed in the middle when he brings the rope underneath, looping it back up until he knots it entirely into a perfect double column tie. He gives it a precursory tug, peeping at her through his unfurled black lashes. “Does it hurt?” he questions, deeper than intended.

“N-no.” That flush on Bonnie couldn’t be missed, descending from her face to her neck. She’s wholly dazed when she finally looks at him with half-lidded eyes. Astarion wonders if the abrupt fresh odor of mellifluous musk, delightfully invading his nostrils, is her arousal. His stomach flutters. “You know, I always did want to be tied up by you.”

Her admission inconveniently goes straight to his cock, making the poor neglected thing jolt behind his leathers. “Flirting isn’t going to get you out of this.” Astarion tugs the knot again, rechecking his handiwork. “But, I can assure you, it wasn’t for a lack of not wanting to. You just always managed to escape from my grasp,” he pokes in return, unable to resist a bout of coquetry. 

Sussing out the knots he should use on her ankles, he slinks southward onto his knees. The next rope binds her comparably to her wrists, squarely knotting it and making sure the bight is in a perfect position. Again, he pulls on the rope, testing for its security and her comfort. 

“Not gonna let me go this time?” Bonnie says softly.

“This time? What do you mean—” Pupils enlarge as he raises, organs contorting when he finds her gaze a wistful longing. Fragile. She’s all fragile. He grabs the knot at her wrists, grazing his thumb alongside it as if to console her. “Bonnie…I never meant to betray you.”

Ichor fiercely rushes to her parted lips. “Save it. I’m not interested in rehashin’ the past with you,” she spits.

“Then, why’d you come back? You’re not a dumb woman; you had to have known the law would be on you as soon as you entered the city. So, why?”

“Some things are more important than my wounded pride,” she whispers, boring her eyes into his. “I also had to see.”

“See what?” he inquires, feeling her heat rising from her skin.

“See if you would listen,” she responds flatly.

“Listen about what?” Something is amiss. Intentional. Remember, Bonnie is intentional. But, Astarion is ensnared by her warmth and her perfumed oils darting into his nose. Gardenia. Smoked tea. Desert moss. Oils that are drowning him in sleepy memories of her. 

Bonnie’s smile is crooked. Here it comes. “When I tell you that you’re a man that’s about to fall asleep in thirty seconds.”

Fuck.

Astarion plummets to the ground, limbs giving out. “Bonnie, godsdamned you!” 

She scoots back a few feet, balancing her bound body while avoiding his thrashing arms. “Angelic Slumber Potion. Perhaps you should’ve thought twice before drinking with someone you don’t know anymore.” The wine glass, she laced the glass!

He scratches the top of the table for leverage, sweating profusely as he tries to defy the potion’s effects. Oh, but sleep sounds nice and his eyes are heavy, drooping just so. Heavier than they’ve ever been. Dreams will come and maybe he’ll meet her there. The woman he can’t admit he ever…

Somehow he’s on his back, staring into his fate that’s coffee-stained beauty spots and suffocating in red-orange marigold tresses surrounding, surrounding, surrounding his vision.

Bonnie chucks his ropes onto his chest, attending to her sore wrists. “When you wake up, I want you to remember something: I’m the one you let get away.”

No wonder his love life is a mess.

Chapter Summary:

What happened five years ago?

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Story Summary:

He’s admittedly apprehensive to approach the lady; they didn’t part on the best of terms. And life changes people, for better or worse. The Bonnie he knew may be lost to a past he would have to mourn in the dust. Was he prepared for that? To slough her from his memory like a rattlesnake sheds its skin. He furrows his thick brows, contemplating if he should leave before she notices him. No, he needs to properly face her. Put things to bed so they could both move on without any lingering questions.

Besides, unbeknownst to her, he’s there for far more than a trip down nostalgia lane or his lust after her crimson draft. Woman has warrants out on her name and a man has a bounty to collect.

-☆ -

Chapter 1: Goodbye, Little Darlin', Goodbye

Ao3

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Word Count: 7.7k

Pairing: Bounty Hunter/Cowboy Astarion x female western bard OC

CW: Smut, PTSD during sex, language, blood

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Five Years Ago

Astarion never cared much for flowers. Trite growths existing for a short time, only to wither til they’d completely dried out—similar to his mortality that his undeath leeched. Thirty-nine living years stolen by his master’s vampiric kiss. Then, two centuries walking with a husk of his own desiccated blood and organs like the top of some dusty mesa.

But, having Bonnie Sparrows sprawled out on his grave resembling sunbathed petals, shushed those thoughts six feet under. 

A month had passed. The Reverend Szarr was plenty dead, and aside from the compelling power he held over his spawned children rupturing for good, there was no trace left behind. Not even a single speck of ash lay in his wake for them to find. Course, that’s what he had coming to him. Reach too high with the devil’s contracts trying to crow like a rooster, one may be liable to end up as a feather duster.

Astarion and his fellow spawn never found who killed Cazador, neither did they unearth any clues as to what happened to the bastard. Fingers were pointed for a while, but they soon realized none of them really had the means to accomplish such a thing, especially being under his thrall. Szarr’s death meant “The Rite of Profane Ascension” had been halted, with seven-thousand former would-be sacrifices turned loose. The house spawn guided them, feral and bloodthirsty, down into no man’s land of the Underdark, where they worked diligently to give them some sort of new life. 

Seemed almost a waste that Astarion’s plans, created with a bunch of questionable heroes hankering for revenge to end his master’s eternal life, never came to fruition, but then he would have never met Bonnie. His Bonnie. She waited, patient and supportive, while he dealt with the unexpected emptiness scraping at his soul because he wasn’t instantly filled with relief or happiness untethered to his tormentor. Justice that felt unfairly denied that he hadn’t been the one putting the Reverend to a final rest. Eventually, when Astarion was good and ready to seek Bonnie out after he made work out of burning Cazador’s pervertible bordello—prostitution house—down, it finally appeared like he may be a free man once and for all. 

The night sky burdened the Western Heartlands with navy and indigo blues, lush with a shimmering tapestry of white jewels the day Astarion decided he would have Bonnie. He showed up on her doorstep, nervous with mysterious passion in his non-beating heart, and pecked the top of her hand as he asked her to follow him to the city’s outskirts. 

He whisked her away under the bloating moon to a bone orchard long forgotten, save for the occasional preacher man wandering by with prayers to redeem its silent residents from perdition. Most of a sun blanched wooden fence, barely protecting the place, laid helpless in the grass. Engravings on nearly all the headstones had succumbed to algae’s decay, serving them a hearty banquet.

“Here we are,” Astarion said, quickly inspecting their surroundings for any possible interruptions. 

“A graveyard?” she smiled, confusedly scanning the burial sites. “You know, when you asked me to take a walk with you tonight, I wasn’t expectin’ such a gloomy place for our first official outin’.”

“Considering I’m a vampire, I prefer some things to remain classics for a reason,” Astarion chuckled. He anxiously cleared his throat. “I-I actually wanted to show you something. Something I haven’t shown to anyone.”

“Better not be a corn cob hidden in your pants again,” Bonnie teased, “Or any other piece of food for that matter.”

He pulled her into him, resting one hand on the side of her waist as he continued holding onto the other as if they were about to dance. “I don’t remember you complaining.”

She stuck her tongue out. “Cuz I let you get away with it.”

“More than you realize,” he murmured, thinking about the lies he had yet to fess up to her. Lies that took advantage of her good nature to serve his benefit. How does a man turn a blow into a subtle breeze divulging something like that? He didn’t know and it sure as shit didn’t come naturally to him. Tonight though, he would tell her. Clear it all up. She deserved that much…and more. “Come. It should be over here.”

Looming beneath a large maple tree, sat a sole tombstone, fairly tired with age. He brushed away crawling vines and leaves claiming the darn thing, with a sadness striving to moisten his eyes. That tree was probably the only living thing keeping the grave company these days, with no indication anybody visited to put memorial trinkets on it. Astarion was grateful for that in a sense. Coming upon a wilted flower basket may have done more damage than good to what was left of his mental state, having plumb forgotten everyone he used to know. Most of them were probably dead anyhow.

“This tree wasn’t as big the last time I saw it,” he reflected, looking above them to admire its boughs. “When I reached the surface, coughing up congealed blood and dirt, Cazador was waiting with this maple as a ‘gift.’ He told me he planted it so I would never forget that it would continue to keep growing and living on—unlike me. And that’s why I needed him, to guide me in those ways through eternity.” He paused, exhaling a choppy breath. “From that day on, I belonged to him, and became livestock for his needs.”

Bonnie gasped, swiftly lowering herself to her knees to place a hand onto the cool stone. The date of his passing and name were read aloud, as she swerved a finger into the elegant markings. “Hang on a tick…this is your grave?!”

“Yes, it is.” The pale elf sat beside her. “There’s nothing inside except for a vacant coffin,” he sighed dolefully, running a hand through those silver locks. “The man I was has laid here, dead and buried. I can barely remember who he used to be aside from some greenhorn magistrate who’s name is carved here under a tree that was meant to be a mockery of me.”

Couple of minutes passed in silence. “I-I’m so sorry, Star,” she whispered hoarsely, balling a fist against her chest. “I don’t know what to say.”

What he failed to mention, was that he didn’t take her there for her to pity him. No, he brought her there because he didn’t want at least one person to forget he lived. Really lived. And Bonnie constantly jabbered away at him like she was grateful he was there at all, even as a sanguinary vampire spawn. Nobody had ever cared about him in a way that made his belly ache with confusion and a longing for their presence. 

He hooked a finger below her chin, urging her to face him. “You have nothing to be sorry about, my dear. In fact, I should be thanking you.” 

“Thankin’ me? But, why?” she inquired, canting her head. 

“For the last six months, you’ve stayed by my side through all this anguish—this horror—foolishly trusting and caring about me, even when your life was put in danger.” Astarion sweetly caught her wrist, grazing her fingertips against his lips to peck. “You feel like home. A safe home where I feel seen,” he answered, fidgety nerves biting like minnows at the back of his throat.

Hindsight being what it tends to be, it was hard to believe Bonnie was the same woman he almost led to her demise half a year ago. It’d been a time since he went after a beautiful victim to bring to Cazador—typically sticking to drunkards and petty criminals since they were idiotic enough to manipulate—but then she came galloping in on that spotted horse of hers through the city, with a sabre at her hip and a long barrel peacekeeper aimed at those who were doing wrong. Though she was part of some fearless vigilante gang called “The Balladeers”, he had never met someone so tough and as gentle as a babe in his entire life. 

Astarion had followed her to some forgettable hole-in-the-wall saloon, desiring a vixen instead of pests to stave off his usual boredom, and wasn’t prepared for Bonnie to give him a run for his money. She’d been eyeing him the whole evening until she mustered up the courage to buy him a drink. He’d turned up the dial with his flirting, using his best lines and all, but she just wanted to get to know him. Come to find out, she liked people. Genuinely, liked them, giving them proper dignity and a listening ear where it was due. And that’s why that drop of honey in a world full of bad seeds had so many fluttering to her.

Eventually, he learned that Bonnie wasn’t the type to sleep around with just anyone, making it impossible to lure her back to the bordello. She liked that sorta “getting swept off her feet” romance that was a slow burning fire between two individuals. So, when she denied his advances during that initial encounter, his curiosity eventually turned into a side project to scheme and work her into helping him escape his master’s clutches. 

Then, he fell for her. A falling star smacking right dab in the middle of a solar globe.

“Don’t sell yourself short! I just happened to be rollin’ on by wishin’ to offer some kinda hope that you didn’t have to go at this alone.” A rosy blush bathed her cheeks. “You,” she began, turning his hand to peck his knuckles in return, “are one of the strongest men I know and I admire you for that. You strove to keep goin’, even when our plans to kill the Reverend were at a dangerously critical point of bein’ found out.” She pointed a finger, booping his nose. “‘Sides, turns out I winded up fancyin’ your sophisticated ass.”

“My ass is sophisticated, isn’t it?” Her wrist found a kiss pressed into it, as he mischievously found her gaze under his dark lashes. “Tell me more.”

A dainty sigh left Bonnie’s lips. “Fishin’ for vanity?”

“Always,” he admitted, smirking into her skin. “I do love hearing about me after all, but if you’re feeling a bit envious, I suppose I could pay you a few compliments in return.”

“Lords have mercy, I’m not feelin’ envious!” she cackled, jokingly sniping her hand back. 

He caught her by surprise when the pin in her hair fell unceremoniously to the ground after his lithe hand snuck to remove it. A coppery dawn just for him to marvel as her mane settled around her shoulders. “No? So, it wouldn’t make you feel good if I told you how ravishing you look with your hair down?”

She reached out to brush her fingers along his crow’s feet, intently staring into his garnet irises. “Only about as good as me tellin’ you that your piercin’ eyes make me feel both intimidated and shy.”

“I like making you feel shy,” he said, tucking strands behind the pointed tip of her ear.

“D-do you now?” Bonnie stuttered, blood swelling her lips.

“Very much so. Especially when your lips are flushed as they are now.” Astarion licked his thumb, swiped it across her lips, then put it back into his mouth to briefly suck on it. “Mmm. Sweet.”

Oh, but that wasn’t the only thing that was sweet: Bonnie was dripping for him. 

He had a mind to tell her how delicious her pussy smelled, let that demure reaction consume her entire body for him to gloat about. But, before their first time, there was a certain innocent doting he wanted to preserve for a little while longer that was frequently seen in new lovers. The kind where anticipation produced excitable giggles and nose rubbing kisses. Small affections he never experienced with anyone prior to her.

However, Astarion couldn’t stop Bonnie propelling herself forward, finding his lips to knead and desperately relieving some of that heated tension that had been baking for months. Her hands twisted into his shirt, preventing him from flying off if he got it in his head he needed to scoot. Tender kisses led to hazy seconds slipping on, until she lightly sucked on his bottom lip as a promise for more. An electric bolt shot straight to his groin when the tip of her tongue accidentally bumped his fang, him wondering for the millionth time if her blood tasted as sugary as he fantasized. 

“S’rry,” she panted against his mouth, loosening her fists to slightly lean away. Could her embarrassment be any more adorable thinking of his comfort first and foremost? 

Astarion cupped the fullest part of her cheek, softly prodding her to look at him. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

An unbridled exhale from her nose warmed his face when he closed the distance to slot his lips against hers, mouth all but begging to be ravaged. His eyes shut, honing in on her delightful mewls she tried to hold back that only incited him to continue. She gripped his elbow, using him as a pillar to steady herself from probably melting in a puddle—which he understood because he felt it too. Astarion poured everything he wanted to tell her into those kisses. Every lie. Every emotion. Every undead and human part of himself. Capturing her breath over and over to suck her living spirit into him. It didn’t make sense how damned perfect their lips fit together, only that his need to wholly have her was increasing by each beat of her heart drumming in his ears.

Lingering kisses soon turned into satiny ticklish pecks, slowing their tempo enough for him to playfully shove her giggling form backwards to the earth. He seductively climbed over top of her, a hemovore beelining it for his prey, wedging himself in the middle of her partially spread legs. As he hovered above her flustered body, eyes flickering to her plump, swollen lips that were happily smiling at him, the vampire thought about how smitten he’d become with Bonnie. When did he start to really notice those first niggles turning his sentiments underside? The turkey vulture hunts? Their first kiss in the corn field? Or maybe it happened eons before, fate wiggling its way in the first night they met.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Bonnie asked, frosty eyes concerned. 

He lowered himself to kiss her forehead, her eyelashes. “It’s only that sometimes when you smile at me, it’s hard to believe I may be the one bringing that about.”

Her stare became magnifying glasses, rummaging through the meaning of his affectionate admission. “I lov—” she began to mouth, then stopped herself as if it weren’t the right moment. Her arms vine crawled behind his neck, instantly toying with his baby fine nape hairs. “Kiss me again and maybe I’ll consider allowin’ you to keep on doin’ so.”

Astarion quirked his brow. “What were you going to say?”

“Oh, um,” she hesitated, “I meant to say that I love spendin’ time with you. Fangs and all!” 

Cute.

The side of his mouth curved up, decidedly searching the shell of her ear. “You make me want to devour you.”

Bonnie squeaked when he pecked her lobe then affixed his wetted lips to her porcelain neck, sucking a purplish bruise into it. She reflexively tangled her digits in his curls, tugging him closer. The tip of his tongue slithered out to run down her cerulescent jugular vein, worshiping her pulsating crimson he had yet to indulge. 

His hand reached her thigh, hooking her leg around his slender waist so he could give her one very languid hip roll showcasing how absolutely hard his erection was. He grunted into the crook of her neck, prompting her to tremble into the dirt beneath her. 

“Hngh. Astarion, wait,” she whimpered as he kissed the column of her throat. “Are you sure about this?”

At the apex of her thighs, he prodded his aching cock against her again. “Darlin’, can’t you tell that I’ve been dying to have you.”

She shifted under him, pushing at his shoulder. “No, need you to look at me.” He craned his neck to provide eye contact. “Do you want this? I’d like a solid answer and not just some of those honeyed words you use.”

Bless her for asking, truly. Bonnie knew about his past dealings as a sex slave and the autonomy refused to him. Didn’t change her mind about sticking by his side, but she nevertheless made it a habit to search out every nook and cranny regarding his true feelings about whatever the subject may be. 

Astarion did want to have sex. And a gal like Bonnie was more to him than a one nighter that’d never see the light of day again. There was a knowing that sex would reshape their relationship, moving from a forbidden courtship they had to sneak around with like youngsters, into something more tangible. Nothing strange about that, was how all real couples connected on a deeper level, but he desperately wanted to give her this part of himself he hated. It was the only way he knew how to prove he could be with her, to demonstrate the yearning he’d felt for months. The allure of it all was enticing in a way that made him feel possessed.

He truly held onto the belief that if her faith in him miraculously led to Cazador’s death, it could also heal his mutilated soul.

His softened eyes met hers. “Yes, I want this. With you and only you.” Honesty. This was honesty. He was ready. He had to be ready. With her, anything was possible, right? Had to be. 

Bonnie blew on a stray curl that fell into his eyes, maintaining her goodness for him even during such a serious discussion. “Keep in mind we can stop at any moment, no questions asked. You start feelin’ discomfort, that’s that. Same goes for me. Y’hear?” 

Astarion honored her sympathy with a kiss. “Thank you.” He clutched the meat of her thighs and impelled his iron rigidity into her writhing physique, earning him choked expletives from her mouth. “Now, where were we?”

“Do we need…ahh, gods…to worry about anythin’?” 

Halting his dry-humping into her clothed center, he reluctantly lifted himself up on his elbows. “I assume you mean diseases or getting pregnant?” 

She nodded fast. “I don’t mean to make this unromantic, but…”

“Somehow it coming from you, is romantic.” He gingerly kissed her, quelling her concerns. “But, to answer your question, we both have nothing to worry about. Perks of my affliction is that I can’t get you sick and vice versa.” His hand slid down to roost on her belly. “As for pregnancy, my seed is dead. So, no surprise dhampirs crawling after my boots.”

“Okay, good.” Bonnie grabbed his collar, yanking to crash her mouth into his. She parted her lips, inviting his tongue in. “I need you,” she wheezed.

Course, who was he to deny such a tantalizing request?

He gave her lower vermilion a precursory lick, then tunneled his deviant tongue into her open orifice. Their tongues intertwined, eagerly discovering a lazy rhythm that he knew made her cunt gush. 

She wrapped her other leg onto his lower torso, grinding herself against his dick to stimulate her core. “Please,” she begged, “Please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

Her pleas went straight to Astarion’s tip, precum gathering in preparation. Something about having a morsel of control over her pleasure, tightened his balls, and he almost threw away his gentlemanly manners to bury himself in her straight away.

“I know, my sweet. You’re being such a good girl for me, but I need you to hold out for a while longer. Do you think you can do that?” It was such a simple request coming from him, but the power it had over her was a sight to behold.

Bonnie flashed him a lustful gaze under her furled lashes. “Yes. I’ll do anything for you.”

To reward her, he coolly pecked the corner of her lips. “There is,” he started, brushing the backside of his fingers on her jaw, inching them just so to skim her exposed collarbone, “a question that has been bothering me for months I’ve needed an answer to.”

“Yes?” she clasped his forearms, giving them a meek wrench as she waited for him to answer. 

Her breathing sped up as Astarion nestled kisses into her clavicle hollow, winding a trail to the roundness of her heaving bosom where her clothing interrupted him. Bonnie donned a corset cover buttoned up past her cleavage with feminine lace sewed into the thin arm openings. Usually, it wasn’t proper for a lady to walk about sans multiple layers exposing so much skin, but she didn’t care. Woman was an unconventional rarity, but Astarion liked that about her. That edge she possessed, that somehow demanded respect from even the most religious of men, had him sickeningly enamored with her.

The cover’s buttons popped open one by one until her corset was unveiled. Pretty thing was teal, constructed with cotton and a busk for easier removal. He carefully unclasped the busk, taking his time to enjoy her erratic breaths fanning out in patient fervency. When he folded back the garment on either side, he grinned at her pebbling nipples curiously seeking attention through her chemise. His index finger circled a clothed bud and she hissed, arching into his touch.

Sensitive minx.

Bowing his head, Astarion’s teeth seized the lace chemise’s neckline, dragging it southwards to reveal her torso’s nakedness. What met him were two mouth-watering tits that caused his shaft to strain against his trousers. Breasts weren’t normally his favorite feature on a person, but hells, Bonnie’s came bouncing out practically demanding to be bitten.

“Mm.” He pinched her nipple, salaciously witnessing a flurry of goosebumps invade her flesh. “Pink. I wondered what color they were,” he reported.

She watched, half-lidded and unbearably aroused, when his tongue darted out to swirl her peak. He gave it one obscene suck that hollowed his cheeks and released it with a lewd pop. Heat sweltered throughout her pores as he suctioned his chill plush lips around her nipple to savor it with modest nibbles, her cry rapidly forcing its way into the universe. To soothe her, his tongue kitten-licked her raw teat, humming as he coated it in his spit.

Noticing he neglected to tend to her other breast, he started fondling it in his free hand, struggling to fit the mass of it in his grasp. He squeezed it, areola puckering from the applied friction belonging to his palm. 

“Ngh,” she fidgeted, winded from his mania on her tits. “You’re makin’ me crazy!” 

He nabbed her waist, suppressing her need to squirm. “Keep moving around and I may accidentally bite you,” he warned in a low growl. 

Bonnie’s hands sailed to the crown of his head, casually massaging his scalp. “I-I wouldn’t mind if you did,” she bashfully offered.

Man almost came in his pants right there. 

Now, drinking from Bonnie had nothing to do with a lack of an actual want on his behalf, but everything to do with not being permitted to sup from humans by his former creator. Was one of the cocksucker’s commandments that all vampire spawn had to abide. Break those rules and the next year being “pampered” with torture devices became a regular routine until the offender was broken in well and good. 

Still, Astarion lusted in his daydreams after that first burst of thinking creature blood hitting his gluttonous buds, wondering if the gaminess he tasted in smaller animals was replaced by a delicacy more refined. And Bonnie? Gods, he couldn’t even fathom what her life essence might resemble. Perhaps some combination of sunlight and the floating heavens. 

“A-Are you sure, darlin’? I’ve never done this before—with a thinking creature I mean. You would be my first.” He couldn’t help but be in awe of this woman, never ceasing to surprise or revoke her trust in him. 

“I trust you,” she reassuringly smiled.

A bout of thrilling unease jumped into his larynx. “I know where to bite, so you won’t be harmed. It’s only that my practice has been limited to—”

“Hey,” she poked his cheek, “said I trust you.” 

Astarion swallowed, brushing his fingers along the velvety span of her neck. “Would your neck be okay?”

“I think so? Yes?” she tittered. “Won’t really know until we get to that point, but I’ll tell you if it becomes too much.” Suddenly, her hands were scritching at his shirt. “Can we take this off? I want to feel your skin on me while we do this.” 

Guilt weighed on him like a horseshoe as his thoughts trotted to and fro. He needed to confess his sins to her before they continued. Make good on his silent promises to this angelic savior. As their intimacy was increasing fourfold,  Astarion recognized that biting without sapping her dry would be a sensual experience that most vampires didn’t share with mortals. Engaging in something so special without first clearing his slate, wouldn’t be fair to her. 

What minute color was left in his face, drained out. “Bonnie, we need to—” 

A finger tapped against his lips. “Shh. Unless you need to stop, whatever you have to say can wait. I’m not goin’ anywhere,” she spoke softly. “Promise.”

He had to believe her, right? She wasn’t one to regale him with tall tales and dishonesty that was unbecoming. In the end, his bucket of dayshine would be there for him. Waiting. Always waiting for him to fall into her arms.

“Right, well, I—ahem—don’t want you thinking I don’t care about you is all. Because I do,” he sheepishly averted her sight. “Quite a lot, in fact.” It may not have been the agonizing truth he wanted to tell her, but it was a truth nonetheless. And if presumably his sincerity was by chance remembered in a compassionate light later on when he did get the opportunity to spill the rest, all the better for him! 

Blossoming red patches splashed her entire self. Dew glazed a thin veil pane across her eyes that Astarion was wanting to get lost in. “Feels like I’ve been waitin’ a lifetime to hear that from you.”

He pecked her palm several times, cherishing her good heart. “I wanted to take my time with you tonight, give you as much pleasure as time would afford, but I don’t think you understand how long I’ve wanted this—wanted you.”

She invitingly bit her lower lip, moving to untuck his shirt out of his pants. “Then, have me.”

Buttons on his shirt loosened as he facilitated her movements. He chuckled at her serious expression when she endeavored to unstick a button and shooed his hand away when he tried to aid. A simper adorned her as she took her time, intentionally appreciating his abs contracting with titillation as her knuckles scraped against them.

“Enjoying yourself?” he teased, finally shimmying out of the shirt.

“Damned right I am!” Bonnie gawked indecently at his planes of lean chest and ab muscles. His skin virtually glowed in the moon’s beams as he canopied her figure. “You’re so handsome…“

Astarion distracted her with a roguish kiss, moving to wrangle her skirt and petticoat past her thighs. Suffering with her blood singing a hymn to him through her vibrating vein thumps and his need to have his cock inside her tightness, he was becoming desperate to move their interlude forward. 

“What are you doin’?” she puffed out.

A fang arduously clipped her lip, all but drawing blood. “I thought I would make this enjoyable for us both. Do you object?”

“Touch me,” she ordered, legs inherently spreading wide to his predatory touch.

His hand drifted up Bonnie’s quivering inner thigh, her hurriedly babbling a prayer when he reached the section where her thigh met her outer lips. “Gods, you’re bare,” he noted, purring low into her ear discovering she had foregone her under drawers. “Can I check?” 

“Check what?” she rasped into his ear as he left a brisk kiss on the side of her neck.

“To see how wet I’ve made your pussy.” Astarion didn’t wait for the wood elf’s reply, instead he ran his index finger in a straight line down her folds, drenching it in her sopping juices. “Oh, darlin’, is this what I’ve done to you?”

Bonnie shook her head to affirm, hands finding respite on his shoulders. She must’ve remembered him confiding to her that he didn’t quite like having the scars on his back touched because she never let those kind fingers of hers cross his invisible boundary once. He was grateful, cadaveric heart swelling at her consideration for him even during such a carnal moment.

Astarion’s finger soared to her clit, mindful of his claw-like nails harming her by mistake. He found her nub swollen and enlivened as she contracted her slit. His finger traced a halo, circling it, paying blissful tithes to the rapacious spot. The way she moaned his name made him bask, pride filling his ego as a man that could confidently brag he brought satisfaction to a woman like Bonnie. Then, his digit stroked her clit directly, spreading her slippery labia to ensure that little bundle of nerves got the attention it deserved. 

“Oh my gods…right there!” she wailed, sweat beading on her face.

“You’re doing so good,” he praised, compressing his stiff dick into her thigh for relief. 

She shivered when his weight pinned her tits to his naked chest and he began to hump her thigh in succession with every pass he made over her throbbing clit. He bit back a filthy grunt as he chased after his ecstasy on her leg, images of that depraved mouth of hers gorged with his rock hard girth. 

“I want you to make me cum,” she deliberately whined, tongue dipping into his mouth to twirl round the tip of his. He presumed she must’ve gotten a taste of the mint leaves he chewed earlier because she crept her tongue further in and massaged along the topside of his tongue with an audible “mmm.”

“When I do,” he roughly hissed on a notable buck into her thigh, letting her catch her breath, “you’re going to look so exquisite coming undone on my fingers.”

The tip of his finger edged along her whetted inner lips until it found her gaping pussy hole. He inserted an inch into her, testing the scalding snugness. A tight fit, but he already knew she would take his cock so well when the time came. He groaned, practically drooling when she automatically clenched onto him. Bonnie sobbed, positioning those hips to rock further on the inches he had yet to stick in. 

As he sensed her climax growing closer, he skirted his razored cuspids across her taut neck, signaling he was going to asphyxiate his fangs in her blood. Bonnie smirked and angled her head for him to settle his mouth onto his preferred area. He licked a particularly salivating region, marking the balmy pastel blue vein frantically chirring.

The pallid elf nuzzled his lips into her, aware of her nervousness. “Breathe,” he cooed. 

Drawn out deep breaths puffed from her puckered mouth one after the other until she shut her eyes. “R-Ready.”

Astarion’s jaw unlatched and his icy teeth sank and sank and sank into the delicate peel of her flesh. At that precise moment, he had two revelations: thinking creature’s blood had to be the most addictive substance in the world and Bonnie’s cunt was as greedy to be fucked as his need to feed. 

Was there ever a lovelier sound than her gasping when he plunged his fangs and fingers into her at the same time?

Syrupy nectar flooded his mouth and he could have sworn he was already intoxicated off a singular gulp. His five senses sharpened, two hundred years worth of forced malnutrition morphing into what could only be described as happiness. That crimson combusted throughout him, igniting his body with heat. He proved himself wrong believing his shaft couldn’t fatten anymore than usual, but gods, one sip from her and it was viciously tenting his trousers.

Yet, somewhere in the crux of his ravenous appetite being sated, he thought he heard a shrill voice echoing mummified orders. Astarion tepidly retracted from his feast, unconsciously lazing his lunges into Bonnie’s wetness. Blood dribbled down his chin like some famished mongrel as he adjusted his hearing to zone in on the sounds.

He peeked at her face, lost to the throes of pleasure. Didn’t she hear it too?

“I’m going to cum soon,” she cried out high-pitched, snapping him out of his thoughts. Bonnie’s vaginal walls were quaking, fixing to orgasm the instant he crooked his fingers.

“Hmm? Yes, darlin’, cum for me,” he replied, struggling to redirect his salient thought-wandering.

Vulgar words exited her mouth while he burrowed his fingers inside her, ushering her pressuring climax. Canines latched back onto the wounds he created and nursed a few more mouthfuls of blood. His fingers pumped at a slightly faster speed while gently thumbing her clit, rising from her neck only to sweetly encourage her. And when her pussy convulsed, she sang his name and praises with a prolonged moan that accompanied the torrential liquid bombarding his fingertips.  

Admiration for Bonnie’s form in his arms as he roused her orgasmic glow, should have filled him with a kind of joy bringing about an otherwise loving experience for the woman he’d fallen for, but instead, he felt nothing. He quickly blamed it on that distracting muffled voice stagnating on the precipice of his tried and true fears, hellsbent on giving himself a fair shake to try sharing pleasure with her again.

Astarion slid his soaked fingers out as her intensity subsided and eased her to sit upright. “Did that feel okay?”

Gradually, her vision refocused, tremors reducing to mini bouts of gooseflesh. “Are you kiddin’? I don’t think anyone has ever made me cum that hard in my life!”

He clicked his tongue. “I guess they weren’t trying hard enough.”

She tousled his snowy waves, amused at his brief frown mussing up his coif. “Or maybe it’s because it was you.” 

“They ain’t call me the ‘Buckin’ Bronco’ fer nothin’, lil’ lady,” he jested in a fake thicker accent.

“Literally no one calls you that,” she snickered, rolling her eyes. “And if they did, you’d knife them.”

He kissed her temple, snorting into her hairline. “I hate to admit you’re right, but gods, it is rather awful, isn’t it?” 

Bonnie stretched to tickle his chin, drying blood adhering to her nail. She ironed it between her inquisitive finger ends. “Oh! Hold on.” Collecting a bunched portion of her skirt hem, she spit on it, proceeding to dab it on his chin. “Blood smears.”

Lines crumpled his browline. He cautiously pawed at the puncture marks. “Speaking of, how bad did it hurt?”

“Would you think me a freak if I said it felt sorta…nice?”

A dramatic hand flew to his chest. “Bonnie Sparrows, did you just admit to being turned on by being bitten?!”

For a beat, her suggestive glance flitted to his deviant smugness. She vacuumed in her lips to wet them, mindfully resuming her labor on his chin. “I sure did.” Wanton thing couldn’t hide her desires even if she tried—which she wasn’t. 

The bulging outline in his trousers was still firm when he navigated Bonnie to stall her caretaking to caress it. “Aah. You’re certainly not the only one,” he replied with a pained exhale.

A flush plagued the expanse of her décolletage as she gave his erection feather-light pats, obviously unsure of how he liked to be touched. Hiding his increasing impatience, needing friction like something fierce, he kissed her, bowing her back as he coaxed her to lay onto the grass once more. Bonnie balanced herself onto her forearms, bare breasts shuddering with anticipation. 

Astarion sat back on his knees and unbuttoned his fly, accidentally ripping one of the buttons clear off in his jittery haste. “Hmph. Guess I won’t be needing that,” he acknowledged lightheartedly. 

Double bouts of barreling laughter conjoined, temporarily breaking the ice. 

He sighed. “You would think I’ve never done this before.”

“Well, you haven’t with me.” She squinted at him, scanning his expressions. “Um, do you still want to—?”

Bending to grab her knee, he pecked the inside. “I need to. I want to.” He needed to be healed. He wanted to feel different.

Trousers lowering to his hips, he winced as his pre-cum covered swollenness bobbed out. Cock head was a feverish pink, warmed by her blood coursing through. He spit into his palm for extra lubrication and stroked his tip a few times, boastfully smiling as he watched her study his impressive member. 

Stars were higher in the sky by now, the lulling breeze grazing their bodies seemed to cradle all their dreams and fondness for each other on its gusts. He lined himself up to enter her, gripping his shaft to impeccably angle it into her on that first thrust. They pressed their foreheads together, Bonnie arcing herself onto his shoulders, and moaned in unison as his crown stretched her inch by agonizing inch until he was fully rooted inside. 

His jaw and lips were bombarded with an onslaught of kisses, babbling endearments that made him dizzy. He slowed his undulating hips, allowing her pussy’s creaminess to smother him as she adjusted to his girth. 

“Ungh, Bon…B-Bonnie…so tight and,” he warbled, taking half of his length out and shoving it back in, “deep.”

She kissed his brow above his right eye. “Are you…okay?”

A blissful shiver crawled down his spine. “It just…ngh…feels different. Fuck, it feels—” 

“Beautiful” was what he wanted to say. What an odd word to describe how their intimacy felt, like it was a sensation he was being introduced to for the first time. Yet, to him, it was perfect.

Astarion glued his eyes shut, there was no bile wanting to spew from his stomach pit nor were there those loathful drudgeries digging holes into brain. Being inside her, connecting in this manner, was pure delight. 

“Feels different…haa…for me too,” she said on a jagged intake of air.

Astarion couldn’t comprehend what she meant by that. She wasn’t a virgin, having taken some men and women into her bed during her one hundred and forty-five year lifespan. Could have been the sex itself and finally having each other. But, when he chanced a peer into those white water blues, he thought he saw a glimmer of an unconditional emotion woven into her irises that filled him with a percolating doubt.

To rid himself of his ideations, he nested into the crook of her neck, bathing in the scent of soapy remnants on her flesh, and drove into her a few more times to evaluate her comfort. She reacted with more clamoring sobs, embracing his prick with her hot slit. Then—

“Yeowch!”

He immediately ceased. “What’s happened? Are you alright?”

“Stop for a minute. I think a stick is tryin’ to make its way into my butt,” Bonnie giggled. She reached behind her naked ass to pluck out the offending intruder. “Aha!”

Taking the stick from her, Astarion tossed it in a direction he wasn’t paying attention to. “Hopefully that will be the last interruption because,” he wreathed her legs around his waist, tenderly kissing her breast valley, “I don’t think I’m going to last long.”

She beamed at him, as innocently as she could pretend, running a finger along his ear’s helix. “You can cum inside me if you’d like.”

“Gods…” His dick flexed inside her, spurred on by her treacherous invitation. He was damned near ready to explode as it was, but hearing her utter such a shameless appeal made him want to fuck her as hard as she’d allow. 

His thrusts began anew, this time going quicker than previously. Astarion glided his hand between his thighs, giving her over sensitive clit a gentle swab. Bonnie’s walls quivered as he filled her, a stocking ungracefully sliding down her leg while her heels dug into his lower back. She wailed when he found her nipple once more, heartlessly punishing it with added suckles. 

“‘Starion?” Bonnie implored, legs shaking like a leaf. 

He led a crusade of kisses to her mouth, all the while pounding in smooth drawn-out propels as her hands scrambled for purchase in his hair. Sweat pooled in the tragus above her plump lips, tresses wild with tangles from rubbing against the earth. Her skin was a bright red, freckles standing out as teeny brown constellations inked across the sky that was her face.

Bonnie cupped his cheeks, shifting her eyes back and forth, and Astarion knew what she was going to say before she said it. “I-I love you, Astarion.”

He’d seen that exact phrase swirling around her pupils like a dust storm earlier, unable to properly prepare himself for it. But, did he love her? Could he unabashedly admit that he loved this woman named Bonnie Sparrows that treated him as an equal and someone worthy of love in every imaginable way possible? Had everything they went through led up to this finite moment where he realized that he felt love for another person again during these unending decades that he spent in misery and isolation?

Yes. Astarion was, without a doubt, madly in love with Bonnie.

He stared back at her, leaning to mouth his confession against her lips. “I lo—”

“Boy, you are a fool,” a piercing tone shot through his thoughts. “She doesn’t love you. She loves what pleasure your cock can bring to her.”

“No. No. NO! You’re dead! You’re fucking dead!”

“Insolent boy! When will you learn that no matter if I am dead or alive, I will ALWAYS be with you,” the Reverend’s voice stated. “How about you slice open that pretty neck of hers so I can see how much she bleeds! Ahahahaha.”

Despite Astarion’s liberation, he still had a distinct fright of what lurked beyond the shadows.  Incanted sordid commands and rotsome hands pushing him ‘neath dark waters that were likely a trick of the mind. Cazador was as dead as a doornail and whatever hubbub his psyche was muddling his head with, Bonnie wasn’t for his master, she was for him! 

Red. Red. Red. Everywhere red. Bonnie’s throat slit. Bonnie a corpse at Cazador’s feet. Himself fucking every dick and cunt between here and there. All for the master. Kennel chains rattling. Starvation. Weakness. Torture. He wasn’t free. HE’D NEVER BE FREE!

Astarion wished to tell her what was going on, bade her to run, but the words wouldn’t come. They were lost to him, as lost as his autonomy remained. 

That numbing dysphoria he’d grown accustomed, dispersed into his pores, shielding him from his stressful visions. He autopiloted, elevating his lover’s lower half so he could fuck into her at a speed that would make him cum and end it all. 

Bonnie gurgled out more “I love yous” as he rammed into her, tits barbarically bouncing. Damned woman was a half-wit! It wasn’t true. She could never love a damaged man like him. He was beyond repair.

She screamed his name and he screamed inwardly. Then, he came, groaning and stuttering his hips as his release emptied inside of her.

They laid in silence. Astarion stared unblinking at Bonnie while she herded away each wiley clump of curl that clung to his forehead. She didn’t look disappointed he didn’t tell her he loved her in return—maybe giving him a berth to chew on it—instead humming to herself in a state of joyful tranquility oft seen after sharing intimacies and all. 

“That was nice,” she whispered, blushing up a storm. “Did you feel okay during all that?”

He finally blinked, masking his sorrow with enthusiasm. “It felt wonderful! You are wonderful, darlin’.”

Astarion guided out his limping cock, putting it behind his trouser’s fly. Unable to do anything more than a clinical cleaning, he used his shirt to clean her whole body down from head to foot, dusting sweat and wiping away mixed bodily fluids. He was downright ashamed of himself, barely able to look at her.

Bonnie clasped her corset, adjusting its cover with concentrated effort in lieu of the yawns now seeping out. She threw her arms round his middle and squished him tight. “Love, I think I am all tuckered out! Mind if we rest here for a bit before that sun starts rising?”

He kissed the crown of her head, cradling it into his chest. “I’ll stand guard in case any hooligans wander by. Trance for a while. I’ll wake you when it’s time to head out.”

After those subsequent yawns, it didn’t take much until she was snoozing peacefully in his lap. He let the clock tick away hour by hour for as long as he could, imprinting her scent and slumbering noises into his memory, until he reckoned he should get a move on. 

He wasn’t certain if he was making the right choice, but he knew it was the compromise that may save them both. Didn’t matter how far he was willing to go to prevent it, Bonnie still became a victim—an unknowing victim to his trauma at that. And through that sickness that struck him, Astarion was all too aware that he could probably never provide her with the life she deserved.

He shepherded her head to lay on his crumpled up shirt and gave her a tearful kiss on her hand, a hushed ode to love murmured into her skin. “Ai armiel telere maenan hir. You hold my heart forever, my love.”

When he glanced back a final time at that orange chrysanthemum in the shape of a woman he cared for, laying exposed as a vulnerable lamb in the chill air, he knew their delicate feelings that brought life to his grave for one night had been love. 

The phantom of Cazador Szarr may consume that same love he felt for her, but his leaving meant his master couldn’t consume hers too. And the only kind of love he ever deserved, would always be at the end of a whip.