essea | [ ELVES CATCHALL POST. ]

[ Astarion has no intention of actually gnawing on Gale, but he does let him think that he's considering it for a few minutes, like a cat toying with an anxious mouse. He doesn't doubt that Gale would offer his blood if the situation were truly dire, but he has no need for a reluctant donation when he has a willing meal all to himself. After making Gale sweat just enough to be entertaining, he follows Iorveth up the stairs, Gale's too-big slippers pitter-pattering against the wood.

He leans against the doorway of the guest bedroom, eyeing Iorveth discerningly. ]

How do you feel?

[ If he's still unwell, Astarion will go without, or maybe he really will go hunting for pigeons like he'd teased Tara about. ]

You look better. One might venture to say 'good enough to eat'.

[ The guest bedroom is as cozy as the rest of the place, with velvet curtains pulled over large windows (Iorveth hasn't peered out of them yet for the view) and well-dusted wooden furniture laden with various knickknacks, both tasteful and not. There are books all over the place, even here, piled on chests and floor-to-ceiling shelves, with the occasional artefacts displayed in glass cases in between. Iorveth runs his fingers over one such case, though he suspects the wooden toy ship inside it is less magical and more sentimental. ]

I suspect I am.

[ Good enough to eat, he means. He turns away from the shelf he'd been inspecting and gestures for Astarion to come closer, his expression markedly less burdened by exhaustion than the morning prior. ]

I've done you a disservice, withholding blood for the past tenday or so. [ Maybe longer－ he's lost all sense of time. The grueling journey interrupted by the kidnappings didn't give Iorveth much space or energy to let Astarion feed, and though he realizes that, despite what the other spawn had said about him being a convenient bloodbag for Astarion, he isn't one, still. He prefers seeing Astarion sated and happy, curled up next to him with blood on his lips like a cat with a mouse in its mouth. ]

[ As he gravitates toward Iorveth, hands clasped innocently behind his back, he says, playfully, ] If you wanted to service me, you should have said so. [ Ha.

At the beginning of his freedom, being denied blood after having free access to it would have been intolerable. Now, it's still unpleasant, but more like an irritating itch that won't go away. He knows now that he'll have a next meal, and so he doesn't worry nearly as much about when it will be. The worse part of the past tenday was traveling so steadily that he had to forgo things like casual affection and sharing a bedroll, although he'll never admit such a thing. ]

I made do.

[ And he'd make do again if Iorveth decided to withhold his blood indefinitely or eternally. There's always some ne'er-do-well that no one would miss skulking around. ]

But I'll allow you to atone for your transgressions, beneficent magistrate that I am.

[ Again: ha. ]

[ Beneficent. Iorveth has the audacity to laugh. ]

Such magnanimity. [ He doesn't bow, but does a bare-boned alternative: a sweep of one arm, palm up and offered. ] What were the punishments for transgressing against a noble? One thousand silver shards and a public flogging?

[ Waterdeep is ridiculous. Gale is delusional if he thinks Iorveth will adhere to any of the city's codes of conduct to the letter; the most Iorveth will do is make fun of it in the bedroom with Astarion, and find ways to circumvent them if they hinder his ability to do what needs to be done. Clever, sly fox. ]

I wonder if the Honorable Magistrate Ancunín will spare me the rod.

[ Oh, he loves the sound of Iorveth's laughter. An unpracticed thing, like he hasn't much experience in things like joy or carelessness, but a wonderful thing nonetheless. Astarion would do terrible things just to see Iorveth throw his head back and laugh.

He tugs Iorveth closer by the collar of his borrowed shirt, the texture of it velvety-soft against his fingers. 'Borrowed' may quickly turn to 'stolen'; Astarion likes the feel of Iorveth in nice things almost as much as he likes the feel of himself in them. Just a shirt, Iorveth had said, but it's more than that, he thinks. The sort of creature comfort that they've both been denied and deserve now more than ever. ]

Oh, I can think of a few punishments to dole out for this misbehavior.

[ Downstairs, Gale feels a disturbance in the Weave and tries not to think about it. ]

[ Joy left Iorveth when he realized that he was born only to be decimated; carelessness left him when he decided to reject victimhood. Since then, it's only been protectiveness and anger and cycles of love and grief that whittled him down to bone and blood, interrupted only by an Illithid kidnapping and the strange journey that happened thereafter. Against all odds, his new comrades have given him new reasons to smile－ against even greater odds, the vampire of the group has given him a reason to laugh.

Tugged by the collar, Iorveth allows himself to be pulled into Astarion's space. It's a welcome sort of stumble, one that makes him realize that it's been a while since both of them have been clean and safe enough for this sort of harmless fooling around.

Another huff, amused, and Iorveth links his hands behind his own back. A criminal!!! ]

Name your price. I submit myself to you willingly.

[ A thing Iorveth wouldn't even think of saying in front of anyone else. He would snarl and bite and kick and scream in front of an actual judge and jury; in contrast, Astarion just gets a little bump to his jaw with Iorveth's nose. ]

[ Iorveth has no idea how dangerous those words are, or worse, he does and he's insane enough not to care. It's a happy little zing up Astarion's spine to hear, brain lighting up in satisfaction as he crowds Iorveth back toward the bed. It's plush, blankets of a deep mauve thrown over the cloudlike featherbed, so soft one could sink right into it. (A little too soft for most, probably, but Astarion likes it that way.) Gale, he realizes, has money. Being an archwizard pays off, it seems. ]

I think you'll need to be restrained while I deliberate. A safety precaution, you see.

[ He finds himself cursing the fact that he didn't think to stop by a store and buy some sort of rope or, like, fuzzy handcuffs. Oh, well. He's nothing if not a master of improvisation. ]

What do you think?

[ Signs of privilege and prestige all around them; Iorveth, for now, doesn't wonder if Astarion would prefer a life like this instead of the one they'd been living the past few days. He's too busy sinking back onto a could-soft duvet with Astarion above him, shushing animal instinct to indulge in the impossible certainty that Astarion won't actually hurt him in any meaningful way.

Most people who have been recently restrained in a horrific way would say "too soon" to being tied up, even in a playful manner. Iorveth, not a normal or reasonable person, slowly links his wrists above his head, letting a frisson of thrill run up his spine at the thought of being able to trust someone the way he trusts Astarion. Iorveth has fought all his life for the semblance of control, so it feels nice, in a way, to not feel threatened when he gives up said control to someone else.

"I think I'm more in love with you than strictly necessary," is a candidate for an answer, but Iorveth settles on: ]

If needs must.

[ Long, lean, and stretched on a bed. Iorveth remembers how miserable Astarion'd been, curled under that bridge in the middle of a forest, and wants to make up for making him feel so small. ]

Deliberate to your heart's content.

Aren't you docile? [ is a tease, because if there's anything in this world that Iorveth will never be described as, it's docile. That's fine. Astarion likes his feral woodland animal.

He especially likes that his feral woodland animal is docile just for him, though. He crawls up over Iorveth's long, lean body, letting his weight rest again his thighs as he takes in the visual. A disservice, Iorveth had said. Ridiculous, when Iorveth's entire existence feels like a favor to him.

His head tilts, contemplative. ]

I wonder. Should I tie you up or hold you down?

[ Not that he could ever really hold Iorveth down if he decided to fight back, not with these weak arms, but— the appeal is in Iorveth letting him. ]

[ "With what strength", Iorveth doesn't say. He'll let Astarion have this one. ]

It'll have to be your hands, if you haven't any rope.

[ That, or Astarion could use any number of Gale's robe belts to lash Iorveth to the bed, but Iorveth will let Astarion innovate however he wants. He wiggles his fingers where they're resting above him, on a pillow pressed against the headboard. ]

I'll not struggle. Whatever punishment you mete out, I'll accept with dignity.

[ Famous last words. ]

[ Astarion might like if he struggled a little, but this is undernegotiated as it is, and Astarion has never heard of a safe word before in his life, so he doesn't say so. Instead, he closes his palm over Iorveth's linked wrists, leaning his weight into his hand in lieu of actual strength. Iorveth's hands sink a little lower into that soft pillow, the silky pillowcase crinkling.

Iorveth is treading dangerously, allowing a crazed vampire the freedom to mete out 'whatever punishment'. Then again, he's been treading dangerously since the first moment he let Astarion kiss him, or perhaps even before that, when he first let Astarion bite him. Hells, he started treading dangerously when he decided not to sneak into Astarion's tent at night and stake him in the heart.

Astarion laughs, an amused exhale under his breath. ]

You struggle so little that one might think you want the rod.

[ He wouldn't mind. You don't become involved with a freak without expecting some freakiness. ]

Or was it the blade you wanted?

[ Iorveth can allow Astarion whatever, because of his deranged certainty that Astarion will stop if anything gets too close to the realm of uncomfortable or unsavory. That, coupled with the fact that Iorveth doesn't mind a bit of pain edging into his fooling around; makes things more exciting, in his (un)professional opinion.

He lifts his chin, mock-haughty; his tone verges on challenging, taunting. Theatre. ]

Don't tell me you've never wanted to threaten me with something sharp.

[ Testing the pressure pressing down onto his wrists, enjoying that weight. It'll be an easy thing to rear up and headbutt Astarion in his impossibly pretty face, but that isn't the point of this exercise. ]

A mouthy wood elf with a penchant for rubbing you the wrong way. [ The corner of his scarred lips curls, amused. ] This is your chance to shut him up.

[ 'Don't tell me you've never wanted to threaten me with something sharp' — ha. If only Iorveth knew how many times Astarion had wished to brandish his dagger when Iorveth said something smug or disapproving. Those fantasies have died down now, but they've only been replaced with more intense desires.

He'd had to remove his dagger when shedding his old, dirty travel clothes. It sits on the nightstand now, and he reaches over Iorveth to grab it, fingers just barely grazing it until he can finally finagle it into his hand, unwilling to give up his advantageous position. His fingers wrap around the handle, feeling the weight of it in his palm before he lightly presses the cold, flat edge of it against the notch between Iorveth's collarbones. Gentle, testing. ]

Since you've been so terribly withholding, perhaps a little bloodletting is in order.

[ It's playacting, but it's also a question. He has no idea what the limits are; if it were him on the other end of Iorveth's blade, he'd be viscerally distressed. ]

[ A stray feeling, here, that Astarion has never negotiated any sort of arrangement before. It makes sense－ Astarion's spent two hundred years living with ultimatums－ and reflecting on it makes Iorveth want to break the hold and pull Astarion into an embrace, but.

They're still playing. Also, Astarion has a dagger in his hand. The best Iorveth can do is communicate with his body language, let the tension bleed completely from his body so that he's a relaxed lump on pillowy down. A wild thing to be doing when, again, the man on top of him is brandishing a very sharp object dangerously close to his vital organs, but it's still all green for Iorveth. ]

Hardly a punishment.

[ Turning his head, lifting his chin to stretch his neck and expose more collarbone. ]

As long as you put your mouth on me, I'm content.

[ That's the only go-ahead he needs. Astarion drags the dagger down until it catches on Iorveth's—Gale's—shirt. He loves this shirt, but it has to go. Gale can just cast Mending on it later; Astarion will say it was an accident, and they'll both know he's lying. The blade runs through the thin, silky fabric like butter, exposing Iorveth's torso in all its tanned glory.

Canvas revealed, he gets to painting, pressing the very tip of his knife just underneath Iorveth's clavicle, only light enough to break the skin and little more. He opens his mouth to say something snappy, but the smell of Iorveth's freshly drawn blood fills his nostrils, ruby red beading on his skin. On impulse, he dips his head down, tongue laving over the spot until there's nothing left but a faint red mark.

His fangs graze against the skin there, digging into Iorveth's flesh enough to make indents but not enough to make him bleed further. He stays there for a long moment, arguing with the animal instinct screaming at him to bite down; to do so would end playtime too soon, and so with notable difficulty, he draws back. ]

[ The shirt!!! Iorveth raises a brow when the knife cuts through it, having expected Astarion to want to keep the thing intact. A concern that becomes of very little consequence once the blade slips over skin, drawing a thin line of pain that makes Iorveth shiver under Astarion's grip.

Not uncomfortable. Still all green. Iorveth tips his chin up for a long breath, then swivels his focus back down to see the tail end of Astarion licking blood off of his skin.

Common sense tells him that this shouldn't be hot; lizard brain says that it's very hot. He doesn't quite flush, but the sound of his pulse sounds much louder against his ears. ]

You could try to be less pretty while you do this.

[ As if he's mad about it. ]

Criminals don't get to make demands of magistrates.

[ Give him an inch, and he'll take a mile. Iorveth has made the great mistake of giving Astarion a little control, and now he's gone mad with power. He pauses for a moment, glancing further down Iorveth's torso and then back up at his hands. It simply isn't physically possible to hold him down and get creative with his dagger. His mouth twists in displeasure before he settles his gaze on Iorveth's face. ]

But magistrates get to make demands of criminals. Stay.

[ He relinquishes his hold on Iorveth's wrists, finding it perhaps even more gratifying to see if Iorveth will obey without any physical force keeping him there at all. Meanwhile, he holds the blade against Iorveth's chest, letting it linger there. From here, he could press the dagger into Iorveth's body, between his fourth and his fifth ribs, and puncture his pounding heart.

He has no desire to, yet the knowledge that Iorveth—prickly, paranoid, mistrusting Iorveth—allows him to get so close excites him more than is strictly sane. The blade cuts a little deeper, a small slice in his flesh that calls more of that wonderful blood to flow forth again, a tiny trickle down his chest. In an instant he's flattening his tongue against Iorveth's skin, humming in something between deep satisfaction and restless longing. ]

[ Oh, so they're really doing this. Iorveth watches Astarion appraise him, his mouth pulled into that haughty little frown, and instead of the usual indignance that might bubble up from the pit of his gut, he feels...

...excited? Enamored? He tries to put his finger on what makes it so different, Astarion telling him to stay versus a human telling him not to move, and it really boils down to the assumption that Astarion wants him. If Iorveth senses, in any way, that Astarion is looking through him instead of at him, the light would snap from green to red, but so far－

－still fine. Still lizard brain-hot. So he keeps his position, hands pressed to the pillow of his own accord, shifting just slightly when Astarion draws another cut in his skin and cleans it with his mouth. ]

Are all magistrates as brazen as you, or are you the exception?

[ A little breathless, but still playing the part. ] Fuck.

Edited 2025-02-04 04:28 (UTC)

[ These little rivulets of blood only serve to stir the hungry monster inside him, and it's so unbelievably difficult to keep a leash on the beast. His teeth drag across Iorveth's chest mindlessly, yearning for more. He wants to bite Iorveth all over, wants to gulp down his blood in large, greedy mouthfuls. His eyes squeeze shut, and he takes a slow inhale and an even slower exhale before opening them and withdrawing. ]

I'm special. [ Obviously. ] But it seems you like your magistrates brazen.

[ He can't help himself — he nibbles down Iorveth's sternum all the way to the soft skin of his stomach, blade pressing against the tender flesh there almost as an afterthought. His soft underbelly, literally and figuratively. ]

You know, you're behaving so well that I'm considering giving you a reward.

[ Gods help Iorveth, if Astarion notices that being bled and fed from is making him a little hard. Definitely a deranged freak for this. This really isn't helping Iorveth and his fixation with Astarion's mouth, and is also not helping him draw a clear separation between bloodletting and intimacy. He really can't go around getting mad about Astarion doing something as banal as eating. ]

Gods, Astarion.

[ Breaking character for a moment, dragging a knee up from the duvet to press against Astarion's shoulder. ] You know what will happen if you start giving me rewards every time you bite.

[ "You are awakening something so dangerous in me." He opens and closes the hands above his head, restless. ]

You'll be the death of me.

I struggle to see the problem.

[ Biting Iorveth gives him such pleasure that it's only fair that Iorveth receives a little from it in return. Besides, Iorveth has made Astarion feel powerful after feeling helpless. If there's anything in this world that deserves a reward, it's that.

But he stops, leaning against Iorveth's knee. Much of his history was spent going along with what others wanted regardless of his own thoughts or desires. Hells, even now, he spends most of his time blindly following Iorveth around, hardly the architect of his own destiny. Although it feels incredible, he's unused to calling so many of the shots, and a little frisson of uncertainty shoots through him. Maybe he's pushing too much. Iorveth doesn't seem particularly displeased with the direction things are going, but Astarion knows better than to trust a bodily response when his own have betrayed him plenty of times.

The haughty magistrate is gone in an instant, leaving behind only Astarion, eyes questioning. ]

...Is that a 'no'?

[ Oh. That arched brow, those big eyes. Iorveth's fingers flex again, wanting to reach down and sift into soft silver hair, to trace the long line of one pointed ear.

He sighs. ] It's rather more of "you'll give me an unnatural fixation with your mouth".

[ Bluntly. His delivery verges on dry, but the words are tempered by a slow-creeping smile, one that manages to soften an impulse to call Astarion foolish. His stupid cat truly has no fucking clue how obsessed Iorveth is with him. ]

Is that what you want? [ This time, his voice lilts. Slightly musical. ]

Do you want me to burn and ache for you every time you deign to drink my blood?

[ 'Deign' is the most inaccurate word he could have used. There's never a moment that Astarion doesn't want to drink Iorveth's blood, but he wants to especially badly now, every animal impulse inside him telling him to sink his teeth into the softest parts of Iorveth's body. If Iorveth is worried about 'unnatural' things, the urge to pierce a companion's jugular is far more unnatural than anything he could ever do. ]

Obviously.

[ Stupid question.

It isn't exactly a go-ahead, but it isn't a stop sign, either, so Astarion curls the fingers of his free hand into Iorveth's waistband, tugging it down just enough to expose his hipbone. Astarion nips at the angle, every bit the unruly, oversized feline Iorveth has accused him of being. ]

—Well. I want you to burn and ache for me every moment of the day, but we'll work up to that.

[ Iorveth doesn't expect sex to be on the table, but if it's something Astarion wants to do, far be it for him to not enjoy it. For a given value of enjoying, when the steadily mounting frustration of not being able to touch or reciprocate is fraying his nerves. Not one to sit back and just idly take anything, especially not pleasure.

His bent knee settles back onto the duvet, tacitly permitting Astarion to do as he likes. Gale's trousers sit low on his high hips, the difference in their builds evident in small details. He laugh-sighs, amused and exasperated. ]

You truly have no idea how much of my mind you occupy.

[ Probably a good thing, that Astarion doesn't know. Iorveth shifts, a little restless with his hands still held above his head, the thin cuts that Astarion made itching a bit now that the initial pain has receded. ]

Fine. Ruin me.

[ "You're the one that will have to deal with me" is implied. ]

[ However much of Iorveth's mind he occupies, he'll always selfishly want to occupy more. The curse of a vampire: no matter how much he gets, he'll still be hungry. Astarion leans over Iorveth's body to place his dagger on the nightstand, because even freaks would be justified to feel hesitant at the idea of a blade anywhere near them when their pants are off. The tip is stained red from Iorveth's blood, and he'll need to clean it eventually, but for now it sends a quiver of excitement through him to look at.

He has two hands free now, all the better to undress Iorveth with. His fingers find their way underneath his waistband again, cold against the warmth of his skin, and tug insistently.

Sweetly: ] How would you like to be ruined, my love?

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