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“What’s wrong?”
Astarion whips round. “What do you mean ‘What’s wrong? ’. Nothing’s wrong.”
Tav settles beside him, leaning against the wall of the tavern. The room picks up for the fifth time with the people’s favorite song, and whilst several eyes have tried to catch Astarion’s tonight, the hustle of the bar is enough to make the two of them disappear.
“For one, you’d never let that dress go by without a comment,” he says, nodding at a nearby elf’s vomit colored tunic. “And two, you were flirting with the bartender earlier, and I know he wasn’t your type.”
“Perhaps instead of focusing on the particularities you should be happy you’re bedding the only person in this disgusting facility who knows how to dress themself. And besides, a man can’t enjoy a little harmless fun now? What if I like leading them on and then leaving them hungry?”
“Astarion.”
He stutters, smirk faltering.
“What’s wrong?”
“Fine. Alright,” He sighs and looks out at the night’s crowd. “It’s this place. This city. Ever since we arrived I’ve felt different.”
“It’ll take some getting used to. You’re seeing it during the day for the first time in a long while,” Tav offers.
“No. No. It’s not that. It’s… me. Under Cazador, I always had a role to perform here, and now that I’m not playing the part I should be…it’s making me rather uncomfortable.” Astarion frowns, lips pinching and then gestures at Tav. “Come on, darling. Tell me to snap out of it and drink some good red. You are looking exceptionally delicious tonight after all."
Tav doesn’t. He thinks for a moment and then says, “You don’t like being idle?”
“If that’s you asking if I want us to stop waiting around and charge straight to our inevitable deaths, then no, my love. It’s not that.”
Tav ponders for a second time, chewing at his cheek as Astarion allows him to come to his own conclusions. For a sensible man, Astarion should really stop him. Instead he swirls his wine around.
“You…” Tav begins and then starts again. “This is the first time you’ve been in the city under your own free will.”
When Astarion stays quiet, he continues.
“It feels unfamiliar, even though you know these streets like the back of your own hand. You feel like you should be doing something. But not for you, for someone else.”
“I always did like the intelligent ones,” Astarion sighs, and then, because there’s still some self-preservation kicking about, he adds, “Though I better not find out that it’s all that tadpole’s doing, I’d hate for us to shockingly survive all this and then die later of the mortification of realizing I’ve been sleeping with an idiot."
Tav ignores his little jab. Instead he glances round, checks that no one is playing privy to their conversation and then whispers, “You have a need to obey. Is that it?”
Astarion purses his lips. Then…
“Yes.”
A lute strums out again and the tavern crowd cheers.
That hideous dress walks past.
The bartender laughs and gods, what had Astarion been thinking?!
“Do you need anything from me?” Tav is eyeing him now waiting for his reply.
The vampire steps closer, rises onto his tiptoes so that his lips graze against Tav’s ear. “Get us a room tonight.”
“I don’t know if that’s a healthy way—.”
“Please.”
Astarion feels his breath against his skin. The exhale of a man caught off guard by his plea who pulls away with a faint dust of red on his cheeks and the glares of a dozen tavern patrons in the back of his head, all jealous of the man who has seemingly won Astarion’s attention with little effort.
“You did ask,” Astarion comments and makes as if to brush Tav’s blush away with the swipe of his hand.
Tav humors him, accepting his touch and then considers the vampire before him. “Okay. I’ll get a room for us.”
Astarion lets him go and watches with a lazy glance as Tav approaches the barman. There’s conversation muffled out by the liveliness of the place and an exchange of gold from Tav’s hand to the owner’s.
Then Tav turns and from across the room the raise of his brow is all the signal Astarion needs. He pushes off the wall, leaves his cup of wine on a nearby table, and trails after the man who has promised him an evening of submission, likely without even truly understanding it all.
Tav leads Astarion to the room he’s bought for the night but then waits by the door for the vampire to enter first. The room is simple, small, all dark wood and a single lit fire. It’s comforting; a far cry from the bitter cold stone Astarion’s used to.
He stops when a floorboard creaks under his foot and takes one step back, turning to face Tav who has shut the door behind them and carefully approached. Tav offers a hand. Astarion accepts before he finds a reason to bolt from the room.
“Cazador—,” he begins as a way of explanation before he cuts his own words short. "Cazador would—he liked for us to remember our place. That we were always below him, and that we were made to serve ."
Astarion glances away, ashamed at his next words. "After a while it became hard to think of reasons why he was wrong."
Tav brings him back. A hand on Astarion’s chin and a gentle coax to turn the elf back to him. It's a light enough touch that Astarion could pull away if he wanted to.
He doesn’t.
"You know, it's been months since I was last on my knees for Cazador. Months since I kneeled by his feet. He'd keep me there for hours sometimes. My head on his thigh; a little pet meant to look pretty and not much else. And the other times—well." Astarion smiles. It tastes bitter. "I suppose it is twisted, isn't it? To want it back?"
"Is that what you want? For me to make you kneel for me?"
"Oh, I want a little more than that."
"The other times," Tav whispers a repeat of Astarion’s words. There’s an understanding in his tone now. And an anger, though not aimed at Astarion.
"Yes," Astarion replies, eyes closing when Tav kisses him. It’s a slow kiss, drawn out and gentle, but ultimately ending with Tav’s lips brushing against his own and one word whispered against them.
“Kneel.”
Astarion’s legs buckle under him. Obedience courses through his veins and submission makes his hands tingle.
Yet the moment Astarion’s knees hit the floor he stills.
It—It can't have felt like this? This…intense?
Astarion had been hoping to hide his need with his charm. Turn this whole situation into a seductive little joke. And yet he finds his mask crumbling almost instantly as the familiarity of his situation settles into his body.
His hands lock themselves instinctively behind his back; Cazador never did like Astarion’s dirty fingers touching him.
Cazador…
He looks up, expecting to see him and only seeing Tav.
Tav.
Beautiful Tav who stares back with admiration. Tav, whose smile isn’t an illusion held together with poison.
Astarion averts his eyes and searches for the usual shame he feels. He finds none, so he glances back. And wonders what sort of man gives respect to one who’d fallen to his knees so willingly?
There is a warmth in him now. It spreads from the ache in his knees, up his thighs, up his torso, into his mind where it settles into a calm that blocks the thoughts that keep Astarion up at night, and pushes forward a need.
A need to obey. To please. To pleasure.
His body acts on its own. Astarion’s face shoved up and buried between Tav’s legs, meeting the man’s growing arousal with his cheek and rubbing into the cotton that’s become coarse from use.
“Mm, Astarion…”
There are fumbling hands in his way, Tav tugging at the lace of his trousers, both men clumsy until an eyelet pops free, loosening the fabric enough for it to fall from Tav’s hips.
Was this all it took? To kneel before another man and leave all those complicated thoughts behind.
He’s drooling before Tav has even gotten his cock out, making a bigger wet patch of spit into the white cotton than Tav’s own precum is. Astarion mouths over that wet spot too, sucking in the taste and nosing in close enough to have his lips feeling out the shape of Tav’s cock through the fabric.
He licks until the fabric is so wet all the way through that it clings to Tav; the outline of his cock, of all its ridges and the glans visible against the soaked cotton.
A hand eventually guides him to the side and Astarion waits with his face against Tav’s hip for the man to pull himself out of his underwear.
Astarion knows what Tav’s cock looks like. They’ve fumbled around night after night and the vampire certainly knows what the man can do with it. He’s been pushed up against enough trees, had a sturdy chest pressing against his back and Tav’s cock nestled in his guts many times.
But up close, there’s so much skin and so much smell. Something entirely masculine and thick enough to have Astarion pushing in close, mouth open and desperately sucking in air.
Astarion knows what he should be doing right about now. He should be aiming a half-lidded gaze up, smirk on his lips and a whisper of, “Enjoying the view, my love? ”
But he doesn’t. He can’t.
He’s too busy dragging his lips up the length of Tav’s cock, nose against the skin all the way up until his lips kiss his balls.
He inhales there too, deeply, and his tongue comes out to swipe up the seam of Tav’s balls. Astarion suckles at one, drawing it against his mouth and laving his tongue over the skin.
Astarion is so very, very helpless.
Tav has one of those fat cocks. The types that hang down due to their weight, tips drooling and quickly flushing red in color. He also has a set of heavy balls, a sac that would undoubtedly produce many a strong child, if Tav weren’t so foolishly committed to Astarion.
The vampire kisses back up the length, ending with a soft kiss of the glans until he finally separates from Tav with a final lick.
Astarion presents his mouth to Tav fully. Lips parted, tongue out just enough for Tav to cradle precum onto it, the tip of his cock bumping against it and making sure that Astarion never forgets the taste.
Then Tav pushes past his lips and Astarion obliges, opening up wider and wider still, with breath stuttering out in the vampire’s need and then getting blocked off entirely as Tav fills him up.
He hears the man’s breath hitch.
Tav is a heavy weight on his tongue that becomes more prominent the closer down to the base of Tav’s cock Astarion gets.
The wet clicking sounds of Astarion’s throat opening up are loud in his ears. Tav’s cock gets nudged deeper, deeper until Astarion pulls back enough to suckle on the tip, lips clamped around the glans for just a second before he sinks down again.
The next time Tav’s cock pops free from Astarion’s mouth, he whimpers and licks up the precum smeared into his lips. Astarion looks up, eyes glazed over already, unsteady until Tav places a hand on either side of the vampire’s face and guides him back onto his cock.
There’s more confidence now to be found and Astarion relishes in the thrust of Tav’s hips. He’s able to kneel and take it. Mouth open and little more than a wet hole.
Astarion’s jaw aches but the pain is needed. A reminder that he’s doing a good job as he bobs his head and drags his lips down Tav’s cock. His fangs are of little concern; Astarion’s faced enough punishments for accidental nicks to have learnt how to keep them at bay.
Astarion blinks, not quite seeing much at all and falls further into the hypnotic nature of this deed. His head goes forwards, then back, then forwards. Again on repeat, eyes unseeing and in love with the way Tav fills him each time.
He gags.
He drools.
Tav fucks Astarion’s own saliva down his throat, the sound of it squelching at every thrust. Obscene as Astarion chokes around it all. He can’t swallow it, not with his mouth held so wide open and Tav blocking the way. So whilst some manages to trickle down into his stomach, the rest of the saliva has to come back.
It makes a wet sheen on Tav’s cock, a thick coating of drool as the rest of it froths around Astarion’s lips. Some become bubbles big enough to pop small splatters of fluid against his skin. Some drips off them both, down the vampire’s chin in thick lines of it whilst the strings of spit that begin to hang off Tav’s cock inevitably end back in Astarion’s mouth when his lips glide over the skin.
For a moment he thinks he’s alone, just Astarion and his own thoughts. But then Tav’s thumb caresses his cheek, wiping away a stray tear and oh, he’s not so alone after all.
Tav pulls Astarion forward until his lips are kissing the base of his cock. Astarion is held there, throat making involuntary gurgling noises, nose deep where Tav’s scent is strongest.
Astarion was never addicted to Cazador. But he could get addicted to Tav.
Cock buried down his throat and face pressed into pubes made tacky from his spit…
Astarion’s eyes roll into the back of his head.
He’s content. He’s so fucking content.
His mind is blank, a warm haziness that makes him weak all over. Tav could do whatever he wanted to him and Astarion wouldn’t stop him. He doesn’t want to and he thinks Tav might know that. That Astarion’s fallen somewhere deep and that it’s not quite time to pull him out of there. For the hand on the back of Astarion’s head stays, keeping him flush to Tav’s body.
Like this, Tav’s precum need only bead at the tip of his cock and drip off it for it to trickle down into Astarion’s stomach. The vampire can’t even taste it as he is, for the tip of Tav’s cock is far past where Astarion’s senses stop.
Astarion doesn't need to breathe. But here, he kind of wishes he did. He wants to give that control up, give everything up.
Astarion is pulled off Tav with a firm grip in his hair. He sputters and coughs, lines of spit keeping him attached to the tip until Tav pushes forward, cock slipping past Astarion’s lips again. This time he goes at an angle and there’s a lewd bulge in Astarion’s left cheek that bobs into appearance at every shift of Tav’s hips.
Suddenly, Tav misses and instead of his cock sliding past Astarion’s swollen lips, it drags up against his jaw and cheek.
“O-Oh…” Tav wheezes out and he suddenly has a hand at the base of his cock, squeezing to keep himself under control.
Astarion should care about that. Of how messy Tav has accidentally made him. Instead he finds himself twisting his face, lips puckering to reach the side of the cock now plastered to his cheek with spit. He kisses and he licks and he whimpers when Tav slaps his cock against his face a few times.
Oh, he loves this.
Astarion has been drunk many times in his long life. He’s disassociated, likely even more under Cazador’s hand.
This. This is different.
Astarion’s entire body is thrumming with satisfaction. His tears cast lines of ruin down his cheeks but they are not ones of bitter humiliation. They are freeing.
There’s a sudden pain in his scalp. Astarion blinks, a little more aware than he was a second ago and realizes it’s Tav holding him.
“Easy,” the man whispers.
Oh.
Astarion had managed to lean so far forward—mouth open and tongue lolled out to catch Tav’s cock between his lips again—that he’d been moments from toppling over. Tav eases him back, gets that now familiar ache back in his knees and feeds his cock back down Astarion’s throat before the vampire can come hurtling back down to reality.
Astarion moans.
He had been afraid this had been about Cazador. That Astarion would kneel and obey and it wouldn't feel like it needed to without his old master. That when the time came he'd go crawling back to him.
Now he knows someone else can provide the same feeling. No. A better one.
A feeling where Astarion can submit without feeling lesser. A feeling Astarion can seek out himself without it being forced upon him.
Tav’s hips start to stutter before he cums. The man groans, loud and unashamed, rolling his body forward into Astarion’s mouth. Astarion goes cross-eyed trying to see the way Tav’s cock disappears and appears and picks up a blurry mess of movement.
He can feel Tav’s cock twitching inside him. There are thrusts; fast and brutal and choking Astarion. It makes him babble out a noise; muffled and wet. Positively filthy. Helpless as his throat constricts and Tav cums.
Astarion swallows: cum and drool and tears. Throat working to take it all, and any that escapes drools out the corner of his mouth.
He swallows and swallows and swallows, eyelids fluttering, chest heaving, an intensity in his lower stomach that had come and gone with the cum pushed down into his belly.
Tav’s cock slips free from his lips.
Astarion waits, mouth ajar just in case Tav isn’t finished with him yet.
He waits.
And waits.
"Astarion?”
Astarion blinks.
Something damp runs across his jaw, removing the stickiness there and cleaning his skin. He blinks again. Slowly so that he can make sense of anything.
Tav is kneeling before him, one hand on the back of Astarion’s head as the other swipes a wet cloth over his cheek.
"Hey. You back with me?"
Astarion nods. And whilst Tav doesn’t say anything, his smile gives away just how wonky the vampire’s attempted nod had apparently been.
“Okay,” Tav says, quiet and calm and perfect. “That’s okay.”
He continues to clean Astarion, wipes away the drool and is extra careful around the vampire’s eyes; picking up the remains of shed tears until he finally leans back.
No one has ever been patient with Astarion. Tav is though. He sits and he waits, skin warm and alive against Astarion’s cold. He’s there still when the haze finally lifts.
And now that his head is getting pieced back together again, the pressure on his knees is getting more annoying than pleasant, so Astarion shifts and then quickly stills.
He glances down.
“Oh…”
There’s a wet patch at the front of his trousers.
“You didn’t notice?” Tav asks. “You were hard the entire time.”
“No. I suppose I didn’t,” Astarion replies, throat sore but the ache pleasant. He moves again and feels the stickiness in his underwear, cum having cooled against his skin.
It had never been about seeking his own pleasure, but it seems that in servicing Tav he had subconsciously been rewarded with his own.
"This…it seemed different. It's like you disappeared but, in a good way?
“I didn’t disappear, my love.” Astarion closes his eyes. “I was here the whole time.”