Chapter Text
Obviously Astarion had thought of making a run for it. Neverwinter made the idea of slipping aboard a ship and simply vanishing to a distant land irresistibly tempting. But since he wasn't just any runaway spawn, he figured that even a distant land wouldn't be far enough to elude Cazador’s grasp.
And that’s only one of the masters to worry about!
If not an evil vampire lord, then he’d certainly have a lunatic devil on his tail. Even without the bloody mark on his hand, Astarion had a strong feeling that Raphael would end up finding him eventually — he always did.
And, as much as he disliked the thought, being under contract to the cambion — and therefore under his protection — was probably his best chance of staying alive for now. He only wished he had a clearer grasp on what the devil wanted from him. The thorough spanking Raphael had bestowed upon him had been rough and, well … rather humiliating, but nowhere near as bad as what Cazador had subjected him to over the years. Truth be told, Astarion was quite accustomed to torture; what truly puzzled him were the devil's unexpected outbursts of kindness. Today, Raphael had not only been tolerable, he had been ... charming. Astarion had almost enjoyed spending the day with the devil, strolling around the city and watching him conduct his business. Raphael was actually quite pleasant company — when he wasn't intent on bending him over his lap, at least.
Or kissing him unexpectedly.
The unbidden memory was surprisingly vivid, the touch of hot lips against his forehead almost palpable, and Astarion shook his head decisively as he felt heat flooding his cheeks once more.
It meant nothing! A clever act of manipulation by a cunning devil! Stop thinking about it!
He had two hours to himself at last, free of all duty and expectation, and he did not intend to spend them brooding over some stupid fiend. In fact, he was going to enjoy the hells out of the remainder of this day!
He strode onward with firm determination, pushing aside any lingering thoughts of Cazador or Raphael, and soon found himself utterly captivated by the picturesque scenery of the city. The snow crunched softly under his boots as he passed alley after alley, stopping here and there simply to breathe in the fresh air and feel the last rays of sunshine on his skin. Not being forced to lurk in the shadows was a strange sensation, but one he certainly didn't mind getting used to.
Eventually he noticed the hustle and bustle of a street market, with the sounds of merchants engaged in spirited haggling carrying over. A small crowd had gathered around colourful little stalls, eager to catch a last bargain. Astarion paused for a moment, instinctively wanting to avoid any kind of attention, before remembering that he wasn't here to hunt. He wasn't looking for prey.
I'm just another ordinary person passing by.
Encouraged by that thought, he curiously approached the small gathering and was quickly engulfed by cheerful chatter and laughter. The market, though small, had a rather impressive variety of stalls. Among others, he discovered a potion merchant's stand bubbling with fragrant brews and a shop showcasing bone-carved jewellery from Chult, as well as an exotic spice cart overflowing with powders and fruits. Astarion moved slowly among them, mesmerised by the array of vibrant colours.
Have there always been so many colours?
It had been so long — he had almost forgotten what the world looked like in the light of day.
As he continued wandering, he noticed that many of the shopkeepers were already packing up their wares. More and more empty stalls appeared, and the crowd began to dwindle. He was just about to turn back when he spotted a rustic stall towards the end of the street that still seemed to be garnering quite a bit of attention. Unable to see the merchandise, he moved closer, but stopped abruptly when an all-too-familiar scent drifted towards him.
Blood.
As one of the groups casually strolled towards the next merchant, Astarion managed to catch an unobstructed view of the stall's display: hearty slabs of venison and well-marbled steaks, as well as … a large, blood-soaked chopping block.
He didn't have time to prepare himself as his heart plummeted and brutal, demanding hunger burst to the surface.
Feed!
It wasn't just a thought; it was raw, overpowering instinct. Astarion clawed both hands into his tunic, cold sweat beading on his forehead as he struggled to resist the compelling urge.
Feed!
He could feel his fangs pressing sharply against his lips, his mouth suddenly painfully dry. He winced and reflexively staggered backwards.
The voice wasn't pleased.
Feed! it demanded viscerally.
One of the bystanders turned to give him a wary look, and Astarion realised that he had started shaking visibly.
sh*t! This was bad! This was …
Another person turned to stare at him, and thankfully, that was all he needed to regain his waning self-control. He spun around, almost sprinting past the stall, as his mind flooded with images of torn throats, guts splattered across sun-baked walls and warm blood pooling in the white snow.
No, no, no!
He ran all the way towards the end of the alley, putting as much distance between him and the scent of certain death as he could. He would have run further, but he stumbled, slipping on the snow, and barely managed to catch himself against one of the stalls.
For several moments he just stood there, waiting for the ferocious roaring inside his chest to die down. His useless heart wasn't pounding, but his breathing came in short, ragged gasps nevertheless.
That was close! Too close!
Astarion slumped against the stall, his knees shaking badly. It was probably the first time in his entire existence that he wished for his former master's bond. Despite its cruel nature, being unable to feed off humanoids had effectively protected him for all those years — from himself and his own raging hunger. Perhaps that was the true purpose of the bond between a vampire and their spawn.
Preservation.
He suddenly felt the urge to return to the Driftwood Tavern, wanting to get as far away from any kind of temptation as possible. Raphael had made it very clear that he expected him to behave and — having one vengeful master already — Astarion wasn't eager to invite the wrath of another.
He drew one last shaky breath and carefully moved around the stall.
A young woman blinked at him from behind the counter. Astarion immediately went rigid at her sudden appearance.
Oh sh*t! Had she been there all this time?
"Oh, hello!" she said, a little startled herself. She was young, perhaps in her early twenties with bright eyes and round cheeks, dressed in a simple fur-lined cloak.
Astarion stared at her for a considerable time, scrutinising her closely. She seemed … neither wary nor suspicious towards his presence. Just another merchant hoping for a last customer before the end of the day.
"Hello, darling," he said lightly, forcing some of his usual charm back into his voice. "I hope I didn't startle you."
"Of … of course not!" she exclaimed, quickly straightening a little now that she had been able to get a good look at Astarion. "Can I interest you in some moonberries? Fresh from the Moonshae Isles! I also have melons from Athkatla." Astarion turned his attention towards her wares, noticing an array of exotic fruits displayed in woven baskets; deep purple-hued plums, iridescent berries and golden melons. None of them appeared enticing to him.
"Unfortunately, I’m a little short on funds at the moment," he said truthfully, relieved that he had found an excuse to make himself scarce.
But the woman only smiled brightly, seemingly taken with Astarion and not all that bothered that she wasn't going to make a pretty coin out of this handsome stranger. "That's quite alright, I'm closing up soon anyway. I'll cut you a slice."
"Ah, you don't have to …"
The woman had already reached for a knife and one of the golden melons, eagerly placing it on a large chopping board. Astarion sighed inaudibly. It seemed that no one ever cared about his objections anyway. But whatever, he could always just pretend that he enjoyed the taste. If there was one thing he was truly good at, it was feigning pleasure.
While cutting swiftly, she looked at him with an all-too-familiar admiration, and Astarion remembered thinking 'watch that knife, girl!' right before it started to slip.
It sank deep into her palm, and they both froze, eyes fixed on the blood that instantly started pooling from her hand.
"Ow!" she exclaimed, reflexively raising her arm, probably to avoid staining her entire sleeve as she frantically searched for a handkerchief. "I'm sorry! I'm so terribly clumsy ..."
Astarion didn't hear a word she said as thick, shiny red drops fell from her fingers into the snow. The metallic scent of iron filled the air as her hand was hovering … right … there … before his face. When he finally reached for her wrist, he did it almost absently.
The rest was a blur.
He vaguely remembered digging his fangs into soft skin as melons and plums scattered all over the snow-covered street. There was some shuffling and thrashing. At some point the screaming started and it rang unpleasantly in his ears. The sound, sharp and irritating, pierced his mind persistently through the fog of bloodrush, eventually jolting him back to his senses.
What?
Astarion blinked.
What happened?
The young woman was cowering on the floor, her eyes wide and terrified as she stared at him in sheer, mortal panic. There was blood on her arms, smeared around her neck and her face. Astarion looked at her in confusion, not entirely certain what had happened, before slowly lowering his gaze towards his own hands.
They were entirely covered with blood.
He looked back at the woman, but as soon as their eyes met, she began crawling backwards, screaming at the top of her lungs.
No … no, no! Don't scream!
He cast quick, panicked glances around. Several groups had turned towards him and a few people were already approaching. An old woman pointed at him and a broad-shouldered man immediately sprang into a full sprint in order to rescue the damsel in distress. There was more screaming in the crowd, and Astarion clearly heard the word 'guards' yelled repeatedly. Not long after, a piercing whistle broke through the air.
f*ck.
f*ck!
Reverting to the only option he could think of, he whirled around and began to run.
He sped past the remaining stalls, leaving the vibrant colours and golden light behind as he ducked into the first dark alley ahead of him. Sprinting at full speed and desperate to put as much distance between himself and any potential pursuers as possible, he noticed too late that the alley ended as abruptly as it had opened up. He emerged back onto the main street amidst the lively hustle and bustle of the crowd. There were eyes on him immediately. Too many eyes, he realised in a sudden panic. Some looked at him in confusion, others in outright shock.
Oh … f*ck!
How much blood was on his face?
He quickly fumbled to pull his hood up as he pushed into the crowd, dodging vendors and visitors alike until he managed to find another shadowy alley to plunge into. Only then, back under cover of darkness, did he stagger to a halt and frantically try to rub the blood off his face.
Being able to see my own bloody reflection would be incredibly useful right about now!
But it appeared that his face wasn't the only problem. The silver embroidery on his cloak was thoroughly stained with dark spots, as were the ruffles on his shirt — and not even to think of the state of his hair!
Stop wasting time! Keep moving!
He pushed on, following the curve of the alley as it veered away from the main road, and … abruptly stopped as he reached a dead end. He stared at the building in front of him, dumbstruck, a sudden rush of panic overwhelming him as he began to realise how utterly lost he was in this city. This wasn't Baldur's Gate, where he knew every secret passage, every dark corner to slip into. This was unfamiliar territory, and he had been foolish enough to initiate a chase into a maze of unknown streets.
He glanced around frantically, fear knotting in his stomach, before finally whirling around to backtrack to the main street.
It's fine. You're fine! Back into the crowd, and quickly into another alley. How hard could it be?
He picked up the pace, hastily skidding the same way back, but just as he caught a glimpse of the busy street again, he heard another shrill blast of a whistle.
Closer this time. Much closer.
An older man emerged at the entrance to the alley, pointing decisively in his direction. Shortly after, a group of heavily armed men appeared, the last light of the setting sun reflecting sharply off regal armour. Astarion caught a glimpse of their tabards, mirroring the Neverwintan banners that he had spotted multiple times on his way into the city.
Watchmen.
f*ck!
He reflexively pressed himself into a shallow alcove as one of the guards turned to stare down the alleyway. Unfortunately, neither the alcove nor the dim light offered much cover. Astarion could feel the guard's eyes lock onto him almost immediately.
"You there! Halt!"
His voice echoed sharply through the alley, and every single one of the guards suddenly turned their attention his way. Astarion froze on the spot, scanning his surroundings with a wild, desperate gaze. He was trapped, caught like a deer in the open. If he turned and ran, he would only end up being cornered, but if he stayed … perhaps he could talk his way out of this?
Hells! You're covered in blood! They're not going to listen to someone looking like he's just been on a murder spree!
By now, the old man had made himself scarce, and the group of guards had cautiously entered the alley. There were a total of six of them approaching him slowly with their weapons drawn. Astarion had hoped for at least one dainty wizard or mediocre archer, but every single one of them was a sentient boulder, neatly wrapped in studded leather and metal.
Okay, change of plans!
Since Raphael had refused to equip him with any sort of weaponry, a direct confrontation was out of the question. But Astarion was fast. So what if … he feigned surrender, only to dash past them back towards the main street? They would certainly struggle to catch up with him, and if he was lucky he might even have a chance of losing them in the crowd.
With no viable alternatives, he raised his arms and stepped into the alley, looking as harmless and innocent as possible. The guards approached him with determination, and Astarion began to quickly assess their formation, searching for a weak link. There was a young-looking man on the far right who seemed somewhat uncomfortable in his armour, almost as though he was wearing it for the first time.
That one.
"Stay right there," one of the guards ordered sharply, but Astarion just co*cked his head in pretentious surprise, looking as if he had every right to be here.
"Oh, dear," he said theatrically. "Whatever is the matter, sir? Can a man not mind his own business in the gloom of an alley without interruptions these days?"
"Keep those hands where I can see them," the guard growled as he took another step towards Astarion.
Wait.
Another step. A lantern was lifted to get a better look at the suspicious stranger.
Wait!
One more step, and the man's eyes widened in sudden realisation as he caught a glimpse of Astarion's bloodstained hands and clothes.
Now!
Astarion shot forward with incredible speed, past the first guard before he could even blink, and towards the far right, where the unsuspecting young man stood immobilised, staring at him in utter shock. A sword was raised, but he dodged it expertly. A hand attempted to grab him, but it went into thin air, missing him entirely. The young man still hadn't moved, hadn't even readied his weapon, and Astarion began to hope that this was going to work, that he had actually been able to trick those buff but brainless buffoons.
He saw the shield coming towards him too late.
Having successfully dodged the main weapon, he hadn't paid too much attention to the guard's secondary defences. The large frame of metal hit him hard, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into the wall. Another blade sliced past him, ripping fabric before grinding harshly against stone. Astarion barely noticed it, feeling as though a sledgehammer had just collided with his skull that rang his ears and turned his vision into a disjointed haze. He instantly collapsed to the ground, sprawling on the icy pavement.
No, you have to … get up …
He scrambled to push himself up, but instantly fell back onto his knees, as a wave of nauseating dizziness overwhelmed him. Someone grabbed the back of his neck, and he was thrown to the ground once again, a heavy weight pushing him down. There were more hands as he thrashed and kicked, until his wrists were seized and forcibly pulled behind his back. He yelped loudly as the movement nearly ripped his shoulders out of their sockets.
"Manacles!" one of the guards ordered, and Astarion could almost instantly feel cold metal wrap around his wrists.
No!
He struggled to yank himself free, but as soon as his resistance intensified, more guards closed in and firmly pinned him down. Hissing, Astarion snapped at a hand that came a little too close, but his head was jerked back violently before he could sink his fangs into it.
"sh*t! Watch it, Leonard! Did he just try to bite you?"
Astarion's face was pressed back to the ground, his teeth grating painfully against the frozen stone, and soon he heard the familiar sound of locks clicking into place.
No …
He made one more desperate attempt to break free, but instantly felt the tight constraints of manacles around his wrists.
Gods, you're f*cked. You're so f*cked! They're going to kill you! And if not them, then Raphael will kill you for sure!
How in the nine hells had he managed to mess this up so spectacularly? An hour in the sun, that was all he had wanted. How had he ended up here, covered in blood, face down in the dirt?
With his hands chained, there was no point in struggling. Panting heavily, and with a rising panic in his throat, he finally relented in his resistance.
"Get him up," a voice said sternly above him. He felt himself being lifted and staggered weakly to his feet before he was slammed against the wall with another brutal shove. Astarion winced in pain as his head collided with rough stone yet again, and his sight frayed at the edges, turning his vision into a grey haze.
sh*t … he was going to pass out if …
"Hey!" Someone grabbed him by the collar as he began to slide down the wall and pulled him decisively back up. "Stand, you wretched scum!"
The guard had to hold him upright as Astarion's legs quivered, threatening to give in. He felt dizzy and disoriented, a pounding headache thrumming at his temples.
"What do we do with him, commander? Shall we take him back to the tower?" one of the men asked, seemingly unsure how to proceed. Perhaps it was that young looking one that Astarion had identified as their weak link. Not so weak after all as it turned out.
"Let's take a look at him first," said a darker, much huskier voice.
Through the haze, Astarion could make out the tall frame of a middle-aged human with a finely trimmed grey beard and piercing blue eyes. The guard captain, he assumed. The man reached for his face, rough hands grabbing his jaw and turning his head, inspecting him carefully. Astarion didn't fight back, but he felt cold sweat beading on his forehead when two fingers landed on his neck, pressing firmly against the main artery — the one that usually throbbed with blood if one was a living, breathing being. He swallowed hard, and the tendons in his neck tensed against the tight grip.
"Cold skin. No pulse."
Astarion's eyes widened, but before he could react, his head was forced back and pressed against the wall.
"Open your mouth," the husky voice demanded in a gravelly tone.
No! No — f*ck you!
Astarion pressed his lips tightly together and directed a kick towards the man's shin. Finding his aim rather unexpectedly, he instantly made contact with hard metal. There was a loud clang, followed by a sharp sting of pain as he inadvertently inflicted more harm on himself than on the man he had intended to strike. As he gasped, calloused fingers dug into his cheeks, forcing his jaw open. They entered, violating his mouth, pushing up his lips and exposing sharp teeth. It f*cking hurt, and Astarion groaned at the pain and humiliation of it. After an unnecessarily long assessment the guard captain finally grunted approvingly.
"... and fangs. My friends, I believe we've caught ourselves a vampire spawn."
Astarion was let go and his head immediately dropped, his jaw straining as he gagged violently. He felt the other guards tensing and shuffling at such an unexpected reveal, but kept his gaze directed towards the ground as his eyes filled with burning tears.
"How … how do you know he's not a real vampire?" the young guard asked gingerly.
The guard captain and some of the other men laughed in response, and the sound was heavy and foreboding. "Because, Frederick, if he were, we'd all be dead by now."
f*ck …
Astarion knew all too well what awaited him. They were not going to arrest him. In the court of law, a vampire spawn was not even considered a person. Undead were classified as monstrosities rather than humanoids, and all guards were instructed to kill such creatures on sight. He had no rights, no protection, no …
Well … there was one measure of protection he had obtained. But Raphael wasn't here, and Astarion didn't know how to reach him.
… or did he?
"Hand me that spear," the guard captain ordered, making a quick gesture towards the younger guard, who complied hastily. "Hold him. Let's make this quick."
Astarion looked up in a sudden panic.
They are going to kill me.
He realised that he had started shaking, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. Several arms held him tightly, rendering any thought of resistance or escape impossible. He let out a low, forlorn whimper as the guard captain turned towards him once more.
Focus! Raphael has come for you — he has always come for you when you needed him! How do you reach a devil? How do you …?
You call him by his name.
The thought came to him so sudden and insistently that it felt like a truth he had known all his life. And as the guards wrenched him back, forcing his chest to arch forward, he gasped the devil’s name in a strangled plea of desperation.
"Raphael!"
Some of the guards stared at him in confusion, but the guard captain only huffed a humourless laugh at his cry for help.
"Your vampire lord won't save you, spawn," he said, calmly positioning the spear over Astarion's heart.
You're right. Because what's coming for you is much worse! Astarion thought with grim satisfaction.
That was … if he wasn't just making a fool of himself and the devil was indeed coming to his rescue. Because if he wasn't …
There was a flicker in the air, a sudden burst of heat, and without warning the snow began to melt. The tranquil white blanket vanished abruptly, and water pooled beneath their feet, revealing the worn brown cobblestones. The guards jumped, and the captain's self-assured expression was instantly replaced by a sudden alarm. Dropping the spear, he quickly drew his longsword and turned to face whatever evil was about to manifest behind him.
Reality warped and contorted as a humanoid figure emerged in the middle of the street, wreathed in hissing flames and thick, swirling smoke.
Raphael.
Astarion felt a sudden rush of endless relief. He wasn't going to die today. Raphael had heard him, and he was truly here.
He came for me.
The devil's dark eyes scanned the area swiftly, searching for something — or someone — until he finally found Astarion cowering behind the hulking figure of the guard captain. His gaze locked onto him, scrutinising him intensely, as if to make sure that he wasn't hurt — or dying. And only after he had seemingly assured himself that his charge was alive and 'well', he turned his attention towards the group of guards who had hastily drawn their weapons.
Frederick, the young guard, was the last to let go of Astarion. Fumbling for his sword, he joined the ranks of his companions, leaving Astarion slumping heavily against the wall. Perhaps it was all the smoke and smell of sulphur that had them approach with the utmost caution, despite Raphael's comparatively slender human stature. Eventually, the guard captain found his courage and took a bold step towards the cambion, blissfully unaware that his last act on this plane would be to challenge a devil.
"You're no vampire …" he stated bluntly.
"How very astute," Raphael said simply, before disintegrating him with the wave of a hand.
After that, there was only flaring heat and wailing. Astarion sank to the floor, eyes widening in shock at the brutal spectacle unravelling before him. Waves of fire engulfed two more guards, while another was sent flying into the darkness. Astarion heard his bones splinter and crack, the sound chillingly akin to logs snapping in a roaring bonfire. He wasn't sure what had happened to their fifth member, but he saw Frederick running for his life as a wave of energy lifted him off his feet and immediately threw him back to the ground, where he remained, twisted and motionless.
It was all over in the blink of an eye.
Suddenly, after all the noise and screaming, it was eerily quiet. As snow melted and water evaporated, steam curled up from the cobblestones, blanketing the dark alley in a veil of fog. Astarion's breath was still coming short and rapidly. He cowered against the wall, searching the thick, misty haze for Raphael.
He didn't have to wait long.
The mist parted as the devil moved resolutely towards him, and as he looked up Astarion's previous relief abruptly turned into a mixture of guilt and panic.
Raphael looked furious. Utterly furious.
Astarion tensed instantly. Not being faced with imminent death, he suddenly remembered how badly he had f*cked up. And this time, he feared, he wasn't going to get away with a mere spanking.
"Raphael …" he began, his voice trembling heavily. "I … I was…"
The devil closed in, and Astarion could see his body distorting with rage, his fiendish form pushing to the surface as his eyes morphed from dark pools to a blazing, molten gold. Still in his human shape, a tail suddenly materialised, lashing angrily, and it would have been a comical sight, had Astarion not been scared sh*tless.
Raphael grabbed him by the collar, jerking him up, and Astarion winced in fear. With his hands still firmly cuffed on his back, he couldn't do anything but dangle in the devil's grip, eyes wide and terrified.
"One chance," Raphael growled with a low, dark voice. "I'm going to give you one chance to explain yourself."
Astarion opened his mouth, but before he could even utter a word, he felt the world shift around him. It was a feeling that was all too familiar by now. It felt like falling — or falling apart — and Astarion ground his teeth, fighting the sudden nausea rising in his stomach as Raphael displaced them back to the House of Hope.
~
They were greeted by warmth, a stark contrast to the crisp air of Neverwinter, and Astarion felt both relief and dread as he was released once more. He instantly tumbled to the ground, the chains pulling hard at his wrists. Lacking the strength to stand back up, all he could really do was awkwardly push himself to his knees. All the while, his thoughts were racing, frantically searching for an elaborate excuse, a believable story that would paint him as a victim rather than a bloodthirsty maniac.
But his exhausted, panic-ridden mind failed him miserably.
By now, Raphael had fully shifted into his cambion form, looming imposingly over Astarion, flames quite literally sparking from his crown of horns. At this point, all remaining resolve left Astarion, and the truth fell from his mouth, unbidden and undisguised.
"I didn't mean to!" he stammered. "There was this girl, and … she was bleeding. I didn't want to hurt her! She was screaming, and then the guards showed up. Raphael, I swear! I wasn't …"
"You attempted to feed on someone in broad daylight?" Raphael's voice was a deep, menacing snarl as he stepped closer. A wave of heat emanated from him, and his wings flared dangerously. Astarion winced and scrambled to get away.
Easier said than done.
He half-crawled, half-pushed himself backwards, with his legs repeatedly catching in his cloak, his useless hands tangled behind his back.
I should have lied! sh*t … I should have made something up. He's going to murder me!
"I've never encountered a creature with such an impressive lack of self-control as yourself," Raphael growled. "Perhaps I should have kept you leashed, like the rabid pet you’ve proven to be."
Astarion continued to scramble away, a mounting panic gripping his chest.
"I'm sorry, Raphael! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to …"
Astarion's back hit a wall, abruptly ending his pathetic attempt at escape. With nowhere else to go, he pulled up his knees, trying to make himself as small as possible. There was no point in denying that he deserved punishment after his actions today. Had he still been with Cazador, he would have been sent to the kennels and flayed repeatedly over the course of a week. He almost expected Raphael to summon a flaming whip and beat the living hells out of him, but for some reason the devil came to an unexpected halt.
Raphael's gaze flicked towards the floor, and the expression on his face suddenly shifted from searing rage to something akin to concern.
"You're injured," he said with a serious look on his face.
I … I am?
Astarion looked down at himself, and indeed there was a thick trail of blood smeared across the floor from where he had crawled to his current position. From the smell and the distinct lack of hunger it stirred in him, it had to be his own. He couldn't recall being wounded, but … perhaps he simply hadn’t noticed in the intense rush of adrenaline.
Raphael made a sharp gesture, and Astarion could feel the cloak dematerialise, along with the tunic and his remaining winter gear. Even the manacles vanished, finally releasing his sore wrists. He had little time to appreciate the reprieve, however, as he immediately spotted a large patch of blood just above his hip, staining his white shirt a striking red.
Oh … He was injured. Quite badly from the look of it.
A sudden, searing ache jolted through his side, almost as if the realisation itself had finally unleashed the dormant pain. Astarion flinched, and another wave of dizziness washed over him. Apparently, it wasn't just a ghastly headache then. It looked like he had actually lost quite a bit of blood. How terribly inconvenient, given his already sparse resources.
Distracted by the sight of his own precious essence ebbing away, Astarion barely noticed Raphael advancing. Only when the devil lowered himself to one knee right next to him did Astarion flinch in sudden alarm. But Raphael just sighed before slipping one arm behind his knees, the other around his waist, and then rose, lifting him from the floor and into his arms.
"If I'd known that owning a spawn was going to be this laborious, I'd have considered getting a hell hound instead," he growled, disgruntled.
Astarion wasn't given a chance to reply as the world shifted and he felt the disorienting sensation of displacement descend upon him yet again. Thankfully, it didn't last long. They immediately materialised in a different room, decorated with plush furniture and velvety curtains that were generously draped over the walls and arched windows. Astarion struggled to focus his gaze beyond that as another wave of dizziness clouded his view, but he could smell the aroma of scented candles and hear the calming sound of trickling water.
Where were they? Another wing inside the House of Hope?
Raphael advanced briskly, his footsteps echoing through the space, before descending several steps at a more measured pace. Astarion could feel himself being lowered, and suddenly he was engulfed by a gentle chill as water folded around him. It quickly rose up to his waist, and he whimpered faintly as it made contact with his wound. There was a brief sting of pain, and then … nothing but a mild tingle.
Wait. What was happening?
Was it … healing?
Raphael settled them both into a seated position, adjusting Astarion's weight to rest comfortably in his arms. Unable to resist, complain or even move — and unsure whether he wanted to — Astarion nestled his head against the devil's neck. At the same time, he could feel his wound gradually beginning to stitch itself back together. The feeling carried a surprisingly strong resemblance to his own restorative abilities as they’d been before he acquired the tadpole. The pain and exhaustion of the day slowly dissipated, his throbbing headache diminishing to a numb, tolerable ache. His body began to gradually relax, and Astarion breathed a soft sigh of relief. Despite the cool water, he felt pleasantly warm, his body pressed tightly against Raphael's chest. The steady pulse of the devil's heartbeat reverberated against his skin.
Raphael smelled ...good.
Had he always smelled this good?
Astarion pressed his face closer to the devil's neck, sensing luscious blood rushing under a thin layer of hot skin, the sound was insistent, mesmerising, … tempting.
And so incredibly close.
He could feel the steady stream pulsating beneath his lips. Against his lips. It would be so easy to simply open his mouth and …
What the hells are you doing? Are you f*cking insane?
Astarion froze, suddenly realising that his thoughts were heading down a very, very dangerous path.
Oh, gods!
He tried to tilt his head, away from the alluring smell, the irresistible urge to feed, but to his shock, Raphael's hand instantly tightened its grip, holding him still.
f*ck.
What in the nine hells was he thinking, cradling a hungry vampire up against his neck?
Probably that no vampire would be foolish enough to attempt to feed on a devil?
Astarion squirmed in another desperate attempt to move away, but Raphael only caught him once more, uttering an annoyed snarl.
"Stop writhing or the wound won't heal."
Astarion felt the sudden urge to yell at him, but forced himself to keep his lips screwed shut, too scared of what might happen if he actually opened his mouth. The steady pulse of blood pumping under hot skin immediately resumed taunting him. His eyelids fluttered as he tried to focus, to will his thoughts elsewhere, but the need was too great, the urge too overwhelming to ignore. He barely realised his lips parting, softly pressing against Raphael's stark red skin, the tip of a tongue grazing across a protruding vein.
All you have to do is open your mouth and …
The hand on his neck tightened once more, but this time it was not to hold him in place. He was jerked back, hissing in frustration as he was deprived of his meal yet again. Raphael's face appeared before him, but instead of anger there was utter disbelief etched across his features.
"What do you think you're doing?" His voice, though composed, carried an alarming tone that instantly raised the hairs in the back of Astarion's neck. Fortunately, the imminent, nearly palpable sense of danger was enough to jolt him back to his senses.
Oh …
Oh, sh*t!
He tensed in a sudden panic, scrambling for an answer that didn't guarantee his prompt disembowelment.
"Nothing! I … I wasn't going to … augh! —Augh!"
Sharp claws dug into the soft skin just below his ears, into his neck, and Astarion cried out at the sharp flare of pain. Water splashed as he flailed and pushed against Raphael's chest, trying to get away, but of course his resistance was in vain. The pain only intensified the more he struggled, and soon his eyes filled with tears of desperation.
"Raphael, please!" he yelped helplessly. "I'm starving!"
The truth fell from his lips unbidden. It was an unexpected relief, even if it meant sobbing it through clenched teeth. And surely, this wasn't news to the devil. Raphael had to know that he was starving. Just like Cazador, he probably thoroughly enjoyed watching him suffer, revelling in the control he could exert over him.
The expression on Raphael's face said otherwise.
Astarion had never seen Raphael blink so slowly before. As the devil took in his words, a look of surprise appeared on his sharp features, followed by one of genuine confusion. The claws around Astarion's neck suddenly loosened, and he shuddered in relief as the painful grip returned to its former supporting hold.
"What do you mean?" Raphael asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I've given Korilla clear instructions to keep you fed. She has provided you with blood, has she not?"
A desperate laugh almost burst from Astarion, but he managed to choke it back just in time. "Barely enough to get me through the day."
Raphael raised an eyebrow, disapproval darkening his face. "And why didn't you come to me?" he asked, a hint of irritation in his voice.
"I …" Astarion was at a loss for words, too baffled by the realisation that simply asking had been a viable option. "I thought … that …"
Raphael sighed heavily, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he began to fully grasp the situation. "You thought that I wanted to enforce obedience by denying you sustenance. Hells … I suppose that does explain your erratic behaviour. Didn't I tell you not to assume the intentions of a devil?"
Astarion simply stared at him, mouth agape, as the meaning of those words slowly dawned upon him. "Does that mean … I can ask for more?"
"Yes, pet," Raphael said, exhaling impatiently. "You've got a perfectly good mouth for that, don't you? You use it oh so cleverly otherwise."
Astarion instantly leaned forward, shifting his weight in the devil's arms in order to face him directly.
"Can I have more? Please, Raphael! I'll be good! No more biting strangers, no more … mishaps! I swear!"
Astarion had inched so close that their faces were almost touching. He stared at the devil with large, pleading eyes, and the devil stared back at him with an indiscernible expression. Astarion was absolutely certain that it was more likely Raphael would attempt to drown him on the spot than grant his request, but against all odds, the devil's previous irritation turned into an amused chuckle, and he co*cked his head in an almost indulgent manner. The claws that had threatened to pierce Astarion's skin began to gently caress the back of his neck, playfully tousling his curls.
"Very well, sweetling. How much do you need?" he purred benevolently.
How … much do I need?
No one had ever asked him that before. And truthfully, he didn't know. He had never felt sated, never been allowed to feed until the hunger subsided.
How much did he need? A bottle? A whole person?
More?
"I … I don't know," he said quietly, the soft admission more vulnerable than he had intended.
"Hmmm," Raphael hummed. "A selection then. I'll have Korilla deliver some of our aspirants tomorrow and you can have your pick. If you could not empty them all at once, that would be preferable. Capable warlocks are hard to come by these days."
Astarion nodded eagerly. At that point he would have agreed to anything.
"Now," Raphael stated firmly. "While I certainly won't take responsibility for your actions, I'm inclined to admit that my lack of attention towards your needs might have contributed to recent events. Which is why I've decided not to punish you for your indiscretions today. But, to be clear, I'm making an exception, so I suggest that these incidents do not repeat themselves. Understood?"
Astarion nodded again, even more vigorously.
Raphael narrowed his eyes on him. "What do we say, pet?"
"Ehm … Thank you, Raphael."
"Very good," he hummed contentedly. "There is one more matter. As I'm contractually obligated to ensure your well-being — and apparently, I haven't held up my end of the bargain satisfactorily — I'm prepared to offer you compensation."
Compensation? What kind of compensation?
Astarion didn't have time to ponder Raphael's words as the devil's hands suddenly moved towards his waist. He felt himself being lifted and his position readjusted. As his ass landed again, he was sitting upright, straddling the devil's thighs.
Oh.
This was rather … intimate.
Raphael smirked at the look of apprehension on Astarion's face, before swiftly pulling his hips flush against his own. As his crotch pressed into Raphael's abdomen, Astarion startled and reflexively raised his hands, planting them against the devil's chest to maintain the distance between them. But one of Raphael's arms wrapped tightly around him, the other returned to cradle the back of his neck, and ... he was drawn closer and purposefully nestled against the devil's neck.
"No! Raph– ..." he gasped in shock. "Don't! I ..."
"Calm yourself," Raphael purred, caressing his back reassuringly. "And hold still."
With little else he could do, Astarion reluctantly tried to settle into his precarious position. A tail curled around him lazily, and the devil's large wings stirred the water as he gently rested them at his side. Astarion realised that his arms had wrapped around Raphael, hands clawing tightly into the devil's soaked garments, but he didn't seem to mind.
"Good. Very good," Raphael hummed approvingly.
Was he … actually offering him his blood?
"Go ahead, sweetling," Raphael said encouragingly. "I'm feeling adventurous today. Why don't you tell me how extraordinarily delicious I taste?"
Was … was this some kind of trap?
With his entire face pressed firmly against Raphael's neck, there was no way he could make out the devil's expression, but his tone had been soothing, reassuring, and he had, in fact, told him that he wasn't going to get punished. Right?
"I …" Astarion started gingerly, careful not to inhale too deeply. "I've got your permission?"
"My explicit permission," Raphael stated. "But you're clever to ask it anyway. Now, feed, pet, before I change my mind."
Astarion didn't have to be told twice.
Raphael's pulse throbbed steadily beneath his lips, and his earlier concerns regarding his capability to feed on fiendish blood briefly resurfaced, but at this point nothing could have stopped him from trying. Finally giving in to the raging hunger, he opened his mouth and sank his fangs deep into Raphael's neck. The devil tensed in response, sharp claws digging reflexively into Astarion's skin before slowly relaxing again.
After a brief moment, a stream of thick blood began pouring into Astarion's mouth, instantly flooding it with an incredible, searing heat. He almost coughed at the sudden sting of pain, but swallowed instinctively. Half expecting agony — an instantaneous rejection of his body against an incompatible substance — he was all the more stunned by the realisation that Raphael's blood tasted … delicious. Smokey with a slight floral note, it mirrored his scent exactly. The fact that it was indeed burning the inside of his mouth was of little concern to Astarion as he desperately sucked in another mouthful. Heat passed through him, a pleasant, comfortable heat. It filled his stomach, his chest, setting his nerve endings on fire, reverberating through his entire body. Astarion couldn't remember the last time he had felt this warm.
Another mouthful of hot blood, and still Raphael didn't stop him. Astarion clung tightly to the cambion's body, unwilling to let go and scared to be pulled away forcibly.
He wanted more!
He curled an arm around Raphael's neck, grabbing hold of soft, dark hair. His hips rolled forward, impatiently grinding against the devil. The heat that was spreading through his body began to build, and he started to feel woozy again, only this time it wasn't coming from a place of exhaustion. He felt … almost pleasantly inebriated, his consciousness somehow dulled, while all his other senses seemed acutely heightened. Every touch was more palpable, more … tantalising.
What the hells is happening?
There was a quiet moan, and Astarion jerked in surprise, before realising it that it had come from his own mouth. Raphael purred in response, squeezing Astarion's neck tightly. His other hand slowly travelled across his back, along the spine, playfully drawing small circles. Even the tips of his claws felt more intense, the touch nearly electrifying, and Astarion shuddered in response.
Another long pull of hot blood, followed by another unintentional groan.
Godsdammit!
He had expected a thorough beating today, not this! How did he end up here? And how was his body, which usually had to be willed into any kind of arousal, so incredibly responsive? With the heat, the friction, the overstimulating ecstasy of blood on his lips, his co*ck was already half hard after the fourth sip. And of course, he wasn't the only one who noticed. Raphael's embrace suddenly tightened, his hand no longer exploring playfully, but reaching for his ass and squeezing firmly. A finger slid between his cheeks, searching briefly, before pressing against his hole possessively. The jolt of pleasure was absurdly strong, and another moan escaped Astarion's lips as the sensation instantly sent sparks up his spine.
f*ck … if he didn't stop mewling like a cat in heat, he was bound to face serious consequences — the kind he had been desperately trying to avoid.
"Imagine that!" sounded the voice of that long-dead Tiefling woman inside his head once more. "Twin co*cks! I wouldn't want two of those motherf*ckers inside one hole at the same time!"
He knew that the chances were low. They had to be — if that whole story was even true at all! Certainly not all fiends were equipped that way. But his doubts intensified when he felt the bulge between Raphael's legs grow, pressing ominously against his balls.
But what if …?
He gulped heavily, nearly choking on a fresh stream of blood as he pictured his ass being ravaged by two massive, barbed co*cks.
Surely Raphael didn't …
"Raphael?" he asked gingerly through a mouthful of blood. "Might I ask you a question?"
"Hmmm?" the devil hummed absently, entirely preoccupied with circling his entrance.
"Do fiends usually come with one … or two co*cks?"
A perfectly valid inquiry, or at least that was what Astarion's drowsy, overheated mind had concluded. The finger suddenly paused, and there was a brief moment of silence before Astarion could feel a reverberating sensation resonate from Raphael's chest.
Laughter. Genuine, heartfelt laughter.
Astarion had never heard the devil laugh before, not like this, and it took a while before it subsided into a soft chuckle.
"You are a delight, Astarion. Truly!" he chortled, giving Astarion's ass another squeeze.
That wasn't the answer Astarion had been hoping for, though, and he pouted against the devil's neck.
"You didn't answer the question," he said, more insistently.
Raphael chuckled once more. "I take it that your interest is not in the general populace of fiends, but in me in particular, so please allow me to answer your question on a more personal level. No, pet, I do not have two co*cks. And trust me, the one that I do have is enough for you to worry about."
Astarion didn't doubt that for a second.
"Now, drink up," Raphael said with a darker, low voice. "I think it's my turn to enjoy your body now."
Ah …
He should have been terrified, and part of him was, but even the obvious threat wasn't enough to stop him, to convince him not to continue drinking. So despite it all — his burnt tongue, the claw pressed against his entrance, and the imminent prospect of being pierced by the enormous co*ck of a devil — he took another long sip.
Another wave of dizzying pleasure washed over him as he swallowed. He drank and drank, allowing sensation after sensation to ripple through him. Eventually he felt Raphael's hold tighten on the back of his neck, and he heaved a sigh of disappointment as he was finally pulled away. Suspended in the devil's grip, he panted heavily, slowly coming down from the overwhelming rush. Hells, an org*sm would not have been more satisfying than this! His body was warm and tingly, his thoughts still pleasantly dulled. There was a mild fatigue enveloping him, as if he had been riding someone's co*ck for too long, and his head tilted back gently as he relaxed into Raphael's hold, fully and entirely sated for the first time in his undead existence.
"Had I known that my blood has this kind of effect on you, I would've offered it to you the first day we met," Raphael smirked. "Imagine the time and hassle it would have saved me, getting your signature onto that contract!"
"Had I known fiendish blood tastes this incredible …" Astarion hummed lazily.
"Cambion blood," Raphael corrected him. "I'm inclined to think that fiendish blood would not have left your throat quite so intact."
Right. Raphael was part human. Perhaps it was this unique concoction of human and fiendish blood that had allowed Astarion to consume it in the first place. And ... what had, ultimately, catapulted his senses into a feverish overdrive.
Raphael reached out towards his face and lightly brushed his hand across his lips, wiping off any remaining blood. Astarion's gaze followed the motion, and he noticed absently that the devil's thumb glistened with a crimson sheen as he withdrew it. His reaction was swift and instinctive. He leaned forward, eager to savour every last drop, and wrapped his lips around it. Closing his eyes, he hummed softly, happily, as he proceeded to thoroughly lick it clean. When he opened his eyes again after a brief moment, he nearly startled at the expression on Raphael's face. At first he thought that it resembled shock, but then realised that it was something more akin to hot, searing arousal igniting the devil's golden eyes. And if Astarion had thought the devil's co*ck was firm between his legs, he was quickly corrected as the bulge suddenly grew hard.
Oh.
He tried to pull back, but the wet, popping sound his lips made as he released Raphael's thumb, and the trickle of saliva dripping down the devil's fingers, did not help his situation in the least.
"And here I was … " Raphael rasped, sounding almost out of breath as he stared at Astarion in undisguised, burning lust. "... thinking I could hold back."
"Wait!" Astarion sputtered, but Raphael's claws dug into his shirt before he could even consider resisting.
Astarion gasped as he felt the fabric tense, rip sharply, and then slide from his body. He stared at Raphael, his chest now fully exposed, and the devil stared back at him, or more precisely at his rosy, hard nipples that sat perfectly against his ivory skin. Raphael growled a pleased sound before seizing his waist and lifting him up. Water splashed as Astarion instinctively struggled to maintain his balance, and suddenly hot lips pressed to a nipple, sharp teeth grazing against sensitive skin. Astarion arched in response, crying out softly. Raphael's hands clenched on his hips, and his searing tongue began to move in attentive circles. Astarion tried to stifle the sounds breaking from his lips, but the overly arousing sensation left him moaning helplessly. His hands reached for something to hold on to, and immediately found thick, curved horns. He gripped them firmly, blunt ridges pressing into his palms as he shuddered, unable to pull away or deny that this actually felt … good.
This shouldn't feel so good!
Raphael's tongue travelled up towards his collarbone, playfully brushing over his neck, and eventually reaching his ear. Astarion shivered, his ear twitching as a long, dexterous tongue dragged all the way from his earlobe to the pointy end. Slowly, teasingly. Astarion felt himself throb fiercely, his nearly rigid co*ck pressing eagerly against the cambion's stomach. Raphael chuckled, pleased with the reaction he had provoked, and went on to take the tip of Astarion's ear into his mouth, caressing it with his lips. A choked breath fell from Astarion as he squirmed and gasped at the sensuous touch.
“Rapha … mngh!”
It was too much. All of it. The heat inside of him, Raphael's firm arm around his waist, the claws on the back of his neck, … Astarion quivered, feeling increasingly overstimulated. If the devil continued like this, he was going to come before that blasted co*ck was even inside of him. With a wet, slithering tongue enveloping the pointy end of his ear, and his exposed nipples rubbing firmly against Raphael's soaked garments … he could already feel himself leaking profusely. He was glad that the devil was probably too drenched and preoccupied to notice.
"Hmmm," the devil purred contentedly as he dragged his tongue alongside the outer edge of Astarion's twitching ear. "I almost forgot how wonderfully responsive elf ears are. It's truly magnificent to see you fall apart so quickly. Do continue mewling those delightful sounds for me."
"I'm not … ngh … 'mewling'!" Astarion breathed raggedly.
He was. Quite blatantly, in fact.
"Oh?" Raphael chuckled, his lips curling against Astarion's cheek. "Then maybe I should give you a reason to."
Wha … ?
No! That was not what he meant!
His body was lowered, his hips sinking back into the water and his ass landing firmly on Raphael's thick thighs — and on the pulsing erection straining against his now-tight trousers. Astarion swallowed hard as the devil's still-clothed crotch pressed firmly against him.
"Wait! Raphael …!"
Sharp claws reached for the waistband of his trousers and made short work of his remaining clothing. Within seconds, Astarion was naked, every shred of cloth torn from his body in a few swift movements. He jerked at the sudden exposure, his hard co*ck now on full display and eagerly pressing against Raphael's abdomen. The devil purred at the sight before humming a brief incantation. Astarion's eyes widened as he watched as a viscous liquid coated the devil's fingers, knowing only too well what it was intended for.
"You do know that trousers can be unfastened, right?" he quipped nervously. "You could have simply … ungh!"
A thick, hot finger entered him without warning. Astarion jolted, his chest arching forward as the sensation rippled through his body. The oil — or whatever slick substance the devil had conjured — eased the pressure slightly, but Raphael pushed deeper, down to the last knuckle, until a choked gasp broke from Astarion's lips. Clenching reflexively, his insides hugged the finger firmly, causing the devil to exhale a pleased sound.
"You're tighter than I thought, given your … past endeavours," Raphael drawled as he curled the finger playfully.
Astarion shivered, briefly worried about that sharp claw inside of him, but either it was blunter that he had thought, or Raphael knew exactly what he was doing. Astarion assumed it was the latter as the finger slowly began thrusting. Sliding out, then back in, out, and back in. Astarion groaned, pressing his face against Raphael's neck once more, barely able to breathe as the devil picked up the pace.
"There's something … gnh! … most people don't know about vampires," he said, panting heavily. "Our restorative qualities apply to all physical aspects of our body. Ungh! Do you have to do that?"
"Yes," Raphael purred happily, pausing the motion only to hum another brief incantation and press a second finger against Astarion's rim. "Hold on, sweetling, that's going to be a tight fit."
Astarion groaned as the second finger invaded him, a sharp sting of pain flaring up briefly before quickly mingling into a sensation of unexpected arousal.
f*ck, he was hard. How was he so f*cking hard?
He squirmed mildly as Raphael pushed in deeper, stretching him, and leaving him with a feeling of being f*cked by a decent-sized co*ck. He should have been worried, terrified really, but the haze seemed to have dulled down his fear, and all he could focus on were the ripples of pleasure surging through him.
He wanted to come.
He didn't know when was the last time he had actually wanted to come, when he hadn't just willed himself into a state of arousal or forced his co*ck to harden.
Gods, he really wanted to come!
"Very good, pet," Raphael hummed approvingly. "Am I right in assuming then, that even if I loosen you up now, well and thoroughly, it won't last until the next dawn?"
"Hmm-hmm," Astarion pressed through clenched teeth, unable to form a coherent sentence.
Raphael nodded, processing this new information before lodging his fingers deeply inside him.
"A perpetual virgin, how cruelly ironic."
"Excuse me?"
Astarion's protest was cut short as the devil thrust his fingers vigorously into him, jutting his hips forward and flush against his own body. Astarion nearly cried out in response. With his co*ck trapped between them, the devil repeated the motion, rocking Astarion's hips up and down. At this point all Astarion could really do was hold on for dear life. With his legs trembling as they squeezed Raphael's waist and his bare cheeks slapping against Raphael’s thighs as he bounced up and down his lap, he was certain that it was only a matter of time before he spent himself all over the devil. He felt increasingly hazy, spiralling closer and closer to org*sm. His eyelids fluttered and …
Suddenly there was a loud squeal.
Both of their heads jerked around to see Korilla standing in the room, still clad in her winter cloak, her hands clapped over her mouth as she stared at them, utterly aghast. Her eyes flicked between their surprised expressions and the water, and Astarion was suddenly very thankful that she couldn't make out everything happening under the surface.
"I … Oh, my! Apologies! Apologies, sir!" she stammered and quickly turned around, facing away from them. Astarion almost expected her to hastily storm from the room, but the dwarf stood her ground, seemingly intent on not leaving just yet.
"Korilla," Raphael sighed, sounding half-amused, half-annoyed. "I believe it's customary to knock, is it not?"
"I … I did knock! Twice!" she exclaimed, nearly turning back around before deciding otherwise. "I thought something might have happened! You didn't return, and I was worried!"
"For me? How sweet." Raphael hummed, his body slowly relaxing again beneath Astarion — beneath Astarion's very naked form. He sank against the devil's chest, trying to cover as much of his erect co*ck as he could by disappearing into Raphael's arms. And as if the situation weren't awkward enough already, Raphael began … moving his hand again.
No.
No, he wouldn't!
Astarion had to stifle a gasp as the devil's fingers began thrusting into him again, slow and lazy but with unmistakable intention.
That horny bastard!
The water rippled, sloshing gently against the edges of the pool. Astarion squirmed, knowing full well that moving away was not an option, and opted for pressing his face entirely against Raphael's hot chest instead, teeth gritted and fists clenched. The thrusting continued, and Astarion could feel his aching length responding eagerly.
Gods, please don't let me come in front of her!
He was glad she was looking the other way. Away from his quivering, aroused body and the barely-disguised fingering of his ass happening right in front of her.
"I convinced Lord Wynder that you had urgent matters to attend to," Korilla continued, not so easily disheartened. "But he was very intent on leaving after your sudden disappearance. I had to bring him here to sway him at all."
"He's here?" Raphael asked, sounding almost disapproving.
"In the foyer, yes," Korilla stated, her gaze still locked firmly at the wall ahead of her. "Waiting for you."
"Let him wait!" Raphael growled, pouting like a child reluctant to let go of their newly acquired plaything.
"Sir!" Korilla half-turned to look at him but suddenly blushed, realising that nothing in the previous scene had changed, and whirled back around. "You've been working on this contract for over a year. Convincing Lord Wynder to even consider a meeting has cost you tremendous effort! You said this was important!"
The thrusting suddenly stopped, and Astarion exhaled an inaudible sigh of relief. The fingers remained knuckle-deep inside him, and all Astarion could do was wait and try to breathe.
"Very well," Raphael huffed finally. "Inform the good Lord I'll be but a moment."
"But …" Korilla began but instantly stopped herself. "Of course, sir!"
With a stiff bow, she finally hurried away, directing one last indiscernible look at Astarion, before disappearing through a large set of double doors. There was a moment of near silence, with nothing but the soft rippling of water filling the room. Raphael shifted beneath Astarion, his wings flexing and settling against his back as he slowly sat up. Astarion groaned as the movement made the fingers inside him shift yet again.
"It appears I'm needed elsewhere," the devil sighed reluctantly. "I'm afraid we'll have to continue this another time, pet."
Astarion wasn't sure whether to cry out in relief or disappointment. But he wasn't given much of a choice as the fingers suddenly withdrew, drawing a last, choked moan from him. The devil rose, lifting Astarion and placing him back onto his own feet. He nearly stumbled, the sudden loss of all the heat and close contact feeling rather … disorienting. As Raphael made his way out of the pool, Astarion followed him instinctively, ascending the shallow stairs into the middle of the room, where he stood awkwardly and painfully aware of how wet and exposed he was. To say nothing of his aching erection that still stood out from his body.
Great.
He briefly stared at his own co*ck, wondering if it was even worth bothering to cover himself before deciding to cup his hands half-heartedly over his groin. Fortunately, Raphael paid little attention to him at that moment, raising his arms and wings to engulf himself in a gust of wind that swirled around him in a blazing heat, drying his soaked clothes in a matter of seconds. The remnants of air that hit Astarion even from a distance were searing hot, and he was suddenly very glad to have covered his more sensitive parts in time.
Fully dry, Raphael settled his wings once more and straightened his clothing. His hair curled attractively, Astarion had to admit, and the steam evaporating from his body was rather … tantalising to watch. He had never considered that Raphael's form, though large in stature, was rather lean in muscle and build.
He realised, at the same moment that Raphael did, that he was staring.
A smirk curled the devil's lips as he turned towards him, his golden eyes filled with a mischievous glow, and two hands grasped Astarion's waist before he could pull away. The grip was strong, the devil's palms even warmer now, and as he was drawn closer, Astarion felt his co*ck stir impatiently against his own hands.
"Hmmm," Raphael hummed, lowering his head against Astarion's cheek, inhaling deeply as he pressed his face into his soft curls. The fingers on Astarion's waist began stroking him gently before moving towards his wrists and around them. There was a brief but insistent tug, and Astarion's hands were pulled back, releasing his leaking co*ck. The devil made an approving sound before pressing the pad of a thumb lightly against his tip. It was enough to draw a gasp from Astarion, a shiver instantly running down his spine. The devil's hand continued to wrap around his length, and even though Astarion certainly wasn't small, his co*ck was almost entirely engulfed. Astarion dug his fingernails into Raphael's arms once more, his breath picking up. But … instead of moving away, his traitorous hips inched forward, into the touch and the welcoming warmth.
sh*t. He actually wanted this.
Raphael's hand began stroking him, and it didn't take long for him to draw precum from his swollen co*ck. Astarion groaned, his fists clenching as he pressed his face into the devil's neck. Raphael chuckled, watching him squirm and shudder as he worked his co*ck at a slow, measured pace. Astarion was close. With the inevitable org*sm approaching, his hips bucked forward helplessly.
"You're uncharacteristically quiet," Raphael laughed softly. "Except for those sweet moans, of course. Could it be that this was all it took to tame that witty tongue of yours?"
Astarion wanted to deny it, but only a gasp came over his lips as they parted, fully and entirely confirming Raphael's assumption. The devil chuckled again, leaning in before pressing yet another hot kiss to his forehead. This time, it wasn't just a brief contact, but a longer, more intimate touch, and the sensation lingered even when his lips finally withdrew.
"How very unfortunate that I have to leave," he said, sounding genuinely disappointed. "But why don't you go ahead and finish yourself off without me?"
Astarion looked up, staring at him in utter disbelief.
Wait … what?
After nearly taking him to the peak of arousal, he was just going to leave him like this — to 'finish himself off'?
Are you f*cking serious?!
The devil chuckled at the look on Astarion's face. Leaning closer yet again, hot lips brushing softly against Astarion's ear, he whispered:
"You may think of me as you do."
And with that he dematerialised from the room, leaving Astarion alone in the large chamber, with nothing but the sound of trickling water filling the air.
Astarion stood motionless. He blinked, baffled and dripping wet in more than one sense, his hazy mind slowly catching up to what had just happened. His co*ck was still stirring at the ghost touch of Raphael's hand as he realised that the bloody devil had purposefully drawn him close to climax only to pull a vanishing act yet again.
"Son of a … !" he yelled into the emptiness of the room, his voice echoing back at him from the walls.
Of course there was no answer, and Astarion groaned in exasperation.
Stubbornly ignoring his aching erection, he searched the room for some sort of clothing, but all he could really find was an oversized silken sheet that he managed to drag from a nearby bed.
Great. Just great!
Wrapping the sheet around him, he made his way towards the doors through which Korilla had disappeared. They opened effortlessly, and Astarion found himself in an unfamiliar corridor. It didn't take him long, though, to follow it back towards the main area in the House of Hope. He emerged from a set of large double doors, nearly bumping into Rugar, who seemed to be guarding this wing from the other side. The Orthon raised an eyebrow at him as both their gazes flicked to the sign on the door stating 'no entry' in infernal.
"Take that up with Raphael," Astarion growled before decisively marching past the fiend, dragging the oversized sheet behind him like the glamorous extension of a wedding dress.
Rugar didn't stop him, nor did anyone else. But he did attract curious eyes as he passed through what felt like the entirety of the House of Hope before finally reaching his room. The giggling of imps only faded as he slammed the door shut behind him, and sank against it with an exasperated groan.
That f*cking bastard.
He couldn't believe Raphael had just left him there after … well, after all of that!
Looking down at himself, he saw that his erection still hadn't waned, but was proudly tenting the fabric. Astarion had a sneaking suspicion that waiting this one out wasn't really an option, and with a deep, reluctant sigh he lifted the sheet to glare at his flushed, hard co*ck, nestled between his pale thighs.
f*ck you, too, he though grimly as he reached for the shaft, wrapping his fingers around it impatiently. He just wanted to get this over with, to finally ease that overwhelming heat inside his body and feel some sense of release. He began stroking himself vigorously, but suddenly jerked, gasping, as he realised that his co*ck was way too sensitive for such rough handling right now.
Augh … sh*t!
He closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. His head tipped back against the door with an exasperated thud.
Fine.
He continued the motion much slower, more carefully, and his co*ck stirred pleasantly at the more teasing touch. The sense of arousal returned, heat flooding his body, and his eyes fluttered shut. He spread his legs slightly, not actually wanting to think of anything, when he suddenly felt the phantom touch of Raphael's hand on his co*ck again, stroking him languidly.
Astarion's breath hitched at the vivid memory, his hand staggering its movement, nearly clenching around his co*ck.
No! Absolutely not! He was not going to think of that blasted devil right now, after he had left Astarion naked, rock-hard and unsatisfied in an unfamiliar room somewhere in the House of Hope!
f*ck him!
Astarion had a vast array of other memories he could draw from if he needed some sort of stimulation. Countless lovers and intimate encounters from over two centuries that he could make use of. For example, the last time that he … that he …
Nothing came to mind.
The faces all blended into one blank, soulless facade, every single encounter a memory of a deep lingering emptiness. There was nothing to hold onto, no pleasure, not even a pleasant thought. Just myriad meaningless sexual acts.
And then there was … whatever had happened tonight. Despite previous threats, Raphael had been gentle with him. Attentive. Not to mention the fact that he had offered him his own blood.
Freely.
No one had ever done that before. No one had ever cared enough to do that.
He remembered the hot stream pouring into his mouth, remembered being held and feeling warm. A warmth he hadn't felt in a very long time. Pinned against the devil's chest, a searing tongue caressing his ear, making him shiver, two fingers pressing against his entrance, slowly pushing in, then thrusting …
Astarion felt heat igniting between his thighs, the muscles in his pelvis drawing tight.
Ah … What the hells.
He picked up the pace. He was panting now, bracing a hand against the floor as tension rippled through his body. He felt the memory of a hot tongue against his nipple, teeth grazing, and he moved faster, squeezing on the upstroke until his hips tensed and his legs began to tremble. He felt the devil's hot breath steaming over his cheek, his dark, low voice softly whispering into his ear:
"You may think of me as you do."
Astarion came harder than he expected, spilling in pulses over his own hand as his chest arched and his hips bucked forward uncontrollably. With his mouth open, caught in a silent gasp, his eyes pressed shut and entirely focused on the all-too-vivid memory, his body bent over and quivered under the force of org*sm. The feeling of release was overwhelming, and it was almost a full minute until he felt his body relax again, his now over-sensitive co*ck gradually growing limp in his hand. When he finally opened his eyes, he struggled to focus, feeling exhausted and heavy in the aftershock of it all.
f*ck.
He looked down at his hand, his spent, dripping co*ck and the mess he had made all over the floor.
That … wasn't how he had anticipated this night to end.
In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had pleasured himself simply for the sake of it. Simply because he wanted to.
But there was one more thing that he came to realise with a sudden, unexpected intensity.
He wasn't hungry.
The savage claws inside his chest, the hungry growling and overpowering demand to feed had been silenced entirely. It was quiet inside Astarion. Pleasantly, peacefully quiet. It was the first time since he had been turned that he didn't feel like a bloodthirsty monster, but instead… like a person. The feeling was so overpowering that Astarion forgot, for a brief moment, how much he wanted to hate that blasted devil — and felt eternally grateful instead.
