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Morgana didn’t feel too terrible about Halsin’s gentle rebuff. It had been a long shot, seeing if he’d share her bedroll for the night. But he was… striking. Her tastes were wide and varied, but something about big men and women—and those somewhere in between or neither—just… did something to her. Something in his eyes had hinted at a flicker of interest but… ah well. As he’d said, perhaps another time. She let her eyes drift over the gathering, unused to their camp being filled with so many people.
It wasn’t really just their camp tonight, anyways. Everyone was celebrating. Whether it was the people of the Emerald Grove celebrating the fact they didn’t have to shut themselves off from the world, or the tieflings celebrating the death of those that would have hunted them.
Laughter echoed, chatter ebbing and flowing. Morgana smiled as she saw a cluster of tieflings and druids alike around Scratch, lavishing the dog with attention and little tidbits from their plates. Content that her favorite boy would come to no harm, she kept looking around. Her eyes widened slightly as she laid eyes on Triscyne and Gale over by his tent. They stood together, some flicker of magic hanging in the air around them. But they were both smiling, and warmth that had nothing to do with the wine seeped into her blood.
Triscyne was a good friend, and Morgana was glad to see her getting along with the wizard more these days. Their bickering now had a decidedly flirtatious edge that the rest of the party had been kind enough not to mention. Something similar could be said for Lae’zel and Shadowheart, though it was less flirtatious and more I-guess-I-don’t-actually-want-to-kill-you-anymore sort of feeling. Morgana was just glad she wouldn’t be waking up to more of her fellow party members trying to murder one another.
Finally, her eyes fell on Astarion, who stood before his tent with a bottle in hand and a contemplative look on his face. She’d noticed a bit more flirtation from him as well, and more than a few appreciative glances here and there. Morgana found herself remembering him during the last battle, the way he darted among the goblins, evading their strikes while delivering his own. It had almost been a dance for him, his lovely, blood-splattered face a mask of death and feral joy. His fanged smile had been… beautiful in a strange, primal way, and Morgana felt her blood begin to stir again at the thought. Unbidden, her feet began to carry her towards him.
It was probably her imagination, but it almost seemed like his expression brightened when he saw her approaching. “Enjoying yourself, Astarion?” she asked. “Doesn’t feel too bad to do something good, I hope?” Up close, she saw a bruise forming on one side of his jaw, a faint pink line evidence of Shadowheart’s work. And, with him being well-fed on both her and their foes alike, he almost had a flush to his cheeks.
He gave her his own considering look. “This may come as a surprise, but I never pictured myself as a hero,” he said.
Morgana snorted. “No!” she gasped, laying a dramatic hand on her heart. “You? I never would have guessed!”
Astarion rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue at her mocking tone. “Oh, hush you. Now that I’m here, being toasted for saving so many lives…” his face soured, the corners of his mouth turning down to an almost comical degree, “it’s awful. I hate it.”
It was Morgana’s turn to roll her eyes, giving him a crooked grin. “Come on, it’s not that bad,” she said. “Think of all the goblins you killed!”
The frown lessened, and then creased upwards into a sharp grin. “True,” he admitted. “That was fun.”
Gods, he was pretty when he smiled like that, all sharp edges and just a hint of fang.
“Still,” Astarion continued, gesturing with the bottle in his hand, “I would’ve liked more for my trouble than a pat on the head and… vinegar for wine.”
Stepping in closer, Morgana lifted the bottle from his hand, trying not to be too aware of where her fingers brushed his. She held his eyes as she took a drink, watching the corner of his full mouth quirk up briefly. The dry, rich red wine was every bit as bad as he described, and she made a face before hurriedly handing it back.
“See?” he said, almost victorious. “Awful. All I want is a little fun, is that so much to ask?”
Despite his almost whining tone, Morgana felt an overwhelming sense of fondness for the vampire, her smile softening and eyes crinkling. “And just what is your idea of a little fun?” she asked.
His posture shifted, straightening, and he gave her the most lascivious and obvious once-over that she’d ever experienced, her heart jumping up into her throat and a flush staring in her ears. “We could make our own entertainment, darling,” he said quietly. “Spend some…” another blatantly appreciative look, “quality time together.”
Morgana felt several things very quickly. Heat, curling low at the base of her spine. Surprise, and then, as she looked at Astarion’s perfectly polished seductive smile, caution. As well as him being rather easy for her to get along with, they actually had quite a lot in common. The most pertinent shared trait being that they were slow to trust people’s intentions. She thought back for a moment, remembering how transactional he’d been with favors.
But this seemed strangely… unprompted.
He was hard to read at the best of times, but Morgana had been forced to become an excellent judge of character. Astarion… seemed at ease, holding her gaze and searching her face in an almost hopeful sort of way. He wanted her to say yes. And Gods, she’d be a liar if she said she hadn’t thought about it. He was beautiful, both in battle and in the quiet moments after, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sewed or cleaned his weapons. At that thought, she wound the end of her tail tightly around her ankle to prevent the arch of it from telegraphing too much.
What harm could it do? A quick tumble didn’t have to mean anything.
Astarion watched her quick study of his face, her head tilting and tail curling around her ankle as she considered him. But the slow smile that spread across her face a heartbeat later gave him the answer he was hoping for. She put her hands on her hips, tail releasing to curl behind her as she took a half step closer, holding his gaze. She really was lovely when—no, focus.
“And what exactly does ‘quality time’ entail?” Morgana asked, the glitter in her eye and her crooked half smile letting him know she knew exactly what it meant.
Feeling bold, Astarion reached out, knuckles curling under Morgana’s chin and keeping her tilted up to look at him. “Just two… very beautiful people, taking some time to get lost in each other’s company.” His thumb swept lightly across her chin, the ghost of a touch to her bottom lip.
Morgana’s stomach dropped, her tail arched, and her cheeks burned. Had the tadpole given him access to the best ways to get her to melt into his arms? Had he read her mind? Regardless, she could feel the little embers of heat at the base of her spine catch fire at his cool touch. And fuck, why not? Going five decades with only herself for company had been… trying. Especially now when beautiful people seemed to just be crawling out of the woodwork lately.
Astarion watched her pupils blow wide, her jaw going slack as the purple dusting on her cheeks deepened to a proper flush. She was almost frozen for a moment, wide-eyed and at a loss for words. But she quickly recovered, giving Astarion a wicked grin before the expression softened, a trace of true vulnerability flickering in her strange eyes.
“Good company is always entertaining,” she murmured as his hand dropped. “Time and place?”
Astarion looked around at the bustling party. The sun had only just slipped below the horizon, glowing torches and lanterns still being put up about the camp. The bard was singing, others joining in chorus. Someone other than Gale was cooking a huge cauldron of something, and glutted on blood and wine, it actually smelled rather good. People were laughing, joking, flirting.
“Let’s wait until things quieten down,” Astarion said. “Once the others are asleep, we’ll find each other.”
Gods, his voice!
Morgana had to make a conscious effort to bring her tail back under control again. “If you’re worried about privacy, I think I know a spot,” she said. She described a small clearing set beside a stream not far from camp, with a well-placed rockface that could be used to avoid prying eyes.
They parted ways then, and Morgana drifted about the crowds, not entirely sure what to do with herself, her mind thrumming in anticipation. She saw Karlach and Dammon deep in conversation, their drinks sitting, forgotten, on a crate beside them. Shadowheart and Lae’zel appeared to be having an actual civil conversation, and Morgana wasn’t about to jinx it and interrupt them.
She saw Gale and Triscyne now engaged in an exceptionally animated conversation, which could either be a hot debate or merely a discussion of different schools of magic. You could never tell with those two, but Gale had a different sort of look in his eye when he stopped speaking, Tris picking up where he left off, hands moving quickly as she spoke.
Oh, that man was smitten, no doubt about it.
Smiling to herself, Morgana watched Scratch continue to move from group to group, offering a noble paw and wagging excitedly as he was showered with praise. Each cluster of guests fed him as if he were starving, and Morgana knew he’d be sleeping with a full belly that night.
Then she realized that the only member of the party she couldn’t find was Wyll.
Her happy mood popped like a balloon, a frown pulling at her lips. Wyll had been quite reserved since his transformation, and even more so since his father’s kidnapping by Absolute cultists. Morgana could understand completely. Not only did he have the impending doom of ceremorphosis hanging over his head, but now his body had been permanently altered without his consent. Now, people would know, just from looking at him, that he was touched by the Hells. Morgana began to weave through the small clusters of merry-making, searching for a pair of large, curved horns.
Eventually, she spotted him, far removed from the party and down on the beach. She took a step forward to go to him, then paused. Would he even want her company? Did he want to talk to anyone? Morgana didn’t want to insert herself where she wasn’t wanted, or to bother him, or…
‘What would I have wanted when this happened to me?’ Morgana thought, pulling herself out of the spiral. Looking back, she would have wanted comfort, wanted a friend, or even just a kind word. Wyll clearly came from noble blood, and Morgana could admit she didn’t care for most nobility, on the principal that their wealth was usually derived from exploitation.
But Wyll was nothing like that. He stood on the principal of honor to the point of his own downfall, and had willingly sacrificed himself to protect Karlach. Morgana forced herself into motion again, crossing from grass to sand and making sure she made enough noise that Wyll would notice her approach. He turned as he heard her, the smile he offered not quiet meeting his eyes.
“Ah, Hells,” he muttered, wincing. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice I was gone.”
Morgana came to a stop beside him. “Not in a festive mood, I take it?”
The small smile he tried to offer was tinged with sadness. “I…” He exhaled. “I didn’t… want to bother anyone.” Even he didn’t seem satisfied with his answer.
Morgana’s brows furrowed. If he’d said he just didn’t feel like celebrating, she’d have understood, but…
“Why would you bother anyone, Wyll?”
He looked up, almost as if startled by how gently she asked. The sadness in his expression eased briefly, before deepening again. “I’m afraid you’re right,” he finally admitted. “In truth, I’m not in a festive mood, and didn’t want to cast a grey cloud over the night.” He looked out across the water. “I’m a devil. I love the people of the Grove, but I unsettle them… deep down. I seem to unsettle everyone these days. You don’t want a devil at your party.”
Morgana blinked, looking from him, to the party, and back again. “You unsettle… the tieflings?” She frowned. “Wyll, I mean no offence, but I think you’re underestimating them. Those tiefling children all look up to you, and I know the parents are extremely grateful to you as well.”
Wyll huffed a small laugh. “Perhaps, but they knew me as a human. To look at me now, they know I’m a monster that threw my lot in with a devil.”
Morgana bristled, hurt welling into anger in her chest before she pushed it back down. He didn’t know that this hadn’t always been her face, he didn’t know that his words could also apply to her. But her response still stuck in her throat, tangled around the lump of instinctive hurt that had risen from his words. “Wyll… if you’re made a monster by this transformation then you might as well call me one, too,” she said, words tumbling out in a rush.
Wyll blinked, mouth opening briefly before it closed again. He leaned back slightly, eye rolling over her with new consideration. His brows furrowed as he met her gaze, confusion starting to take hold. Before he could speak, Morgana cut in.
“I’ve always been a tiefling,” she clarified. “But I was more… human looking, once upon a time.”
The confusion faded. “You disobeyed as well,” not in question, but in understanding.
Morgana nodded. “I think I can tell you,” she said. “My patron is sometimes… flexible.”
“So, it doesn’t have anything to do with you finding loopholes?” Wyll said, a hint of mirth in his voice.
Unable to help herself, Morgana’s face split into a smile. Fey were well known for their strict adherence to their rules. However, they were equally well known for finding loopholes in contracts and rules in order to still get their way. “Shh!” she hushed, then nodded to the log by the water. “C’mon. The party’s not going anywhere. Sit with me.”
The two of them crossed the little beach and dropped down. Morgana noticed that Wyll was a bit unsteady on his feet, putting his arms out as he sat down. “Still getting used to the tail?” she asked.
Wyll nodded. “Karlach explained about pillows, at least,” he said. “Which was helpful. I wasn’t sure how I was going to sleep.”
Morgana huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, being a tiefling and side sleeper isn’t a great combination.”
“So I’m discovering.” Wyll’s expression was still tinged with sadness, his eyes downcast.
Morgana’s chest squeezed, words of comfort rising but feeling slightly too familiar for such a new friend. “Like you, I disobeyed an unjust order. I’d thought I knew my patron and could reason with him but… Well, I’ve looked like this for close to a century,” she finally said. “It wasn’t easy for a very long time.” She looked up, fully prepared for the shocked expression on Wyll’s face.
“A century?” He was staring, wide-eyed. “I thought… I thought you were close to my age.”
Another rueful laugh. “I am. Well… sort of. Time moves differently in the Feywilds. If you go by the calendar of the Material Plane, I’ve only been gone a year so I’m… thirty? Maybe? Also, my patron absolutely had a hand in me not aging all that time.”
The sadness in Wyll’s gaze had turned to sympathy. “Gods above, Morgana,” he breathed. The expression softened. “No wonder you and Astarion get along so well.”
Morgana snorted. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not,” she said. “But I don’t think the people of the Grove or the tieflings would think less of you, and I don’t think you would unsettle them. Especially if they knew why you suddenly looked like this.” A thought occurred to her. “Can you tell them? I know you couldn’t say much about your pact. I’ll tell them for you if that’s the case. Or Karlach can; we’re not bound by Mizora.”
“I just…” Wyll sighed, sounding defeated, but his expression was more at ease. He turned to Morgana, a smile crinkling his eyes. “You’re surprising, you know that?”
Morgana blinked. “How so?”
“You’re this… mess of contradictions,” Wyll began, his hands moving as he spoke, something Morgana had a soft spot for. “You’re fiercely protective of children and animals, but you fight your foes without mercy and with a viciousness that’s, if I’m being honest, a little frightening. You’re quite happy to loot the bodies of any valuables they might have, regardless of them being enemies or victims…” He paused, looking back at her. “But then you do something like this, taking time that could be spent in revelry to check on a sad sack like me.” His expression had lost the sad edge. “Thank you.”
“I know you’ve said you don’t regret making your pact,” Morgana said, trying to sidestep the warmth in her cheeks at the compliment. “So, I know you made it for a good reason. Just don’t forget that you’re a good man, Wyll, and anyone that chooses not to see that isn’t worth the breath it takes to curse them.” She leaned over, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Go on. I’m sure Karlach would love to talk with you.” She pushed herself to her feet with a grunt, body still aching from the day’s battle. “And maybe you can make sure Mol doesn’t price gouge people on wine.”
Wyll laughed softly. “That child could swindle even a seasoned member of the thieves’ guild.”
“She’ll be founding her own guild in Baldur’s Gate, I’m sure,” Morgana said. “It pays to get in good with the underworld.”
Wyll shook his head. “You’re a terrible influence.”
Morgana’s grin was all teeth. “Come now, a little mischief is good for the soul.”
Wyll laughed properly at that. Not a loud, full laugh, but his eyes crinkled with real joy, and Morgana smiled back, chuckling happily to herself. A thought occurred to her. “Before I head back, I did want to tell you something,” she said.
“Oh?”
“You know how cats telegraph their feelings with their tails sometimes?” she said.
Wyll’s brows furrowed slightly. “Yes?” he said uncertainly.
“Well… tieflings do the same,” she said, nodding to his newly acquired tail. “And um…” She felt a bit of heat in her cheeks. “Well, your tail can telegraph how much you… like someone.” She tried to put the proper emphasis on the word. When Wyll just continued to look confused, she added, “tails arch at the base when you’re sexually interested in someone. I figured you probably wouldn’t want to telegraph that.”
She was certain that if Wyll had been a paler man, his cheeks would have been scarlet. Instead, his eyes widened briefly in alarm, and he coughed slightly, looking away and clearing his throat. “That’s, uh… good to know.”
Morgana stood, brushing imaginary dust from her hands. “You’re welcome.” She made to leave, then paused. “You can… if you have more questions about it you can ask. Any time.” She caught his eye and held it a moment. “I mean it… I might be awkward but if you have questions about things like that… you can always ask.”
“I…” There was that softening around his eyes again, and Morgana realized that her younger self would have been head-over-heels for someone as gallant and soft as Wyll. “Thank you, Morgana,” he said. “Truly.”
She smiled. “Any time, Wyll.”
Morgana drifted back to the party, finding a glass of wine in time to watch Rolan put on an absolutely lovely light show, the colors glittering, dancing, and swirling as he tossed them up into the sky over and over. His siblings gave her warm smiles as she passed by. She had felt a bit odd, interjecting on their argument back in the Grove. But she’d still be running hot from the fight with the goblins at the gate. She was glad they had decided to stay. And besides, traveling with a large group was safer than just a trio.
For the rest of the evening, she ate and drank, all her hesitation and trepidation slowly melting away with good wine and even better food. But remembering her plans for afterwards, she slowed her drinking, sobering up as the party began to slow and quiet. People drifted off in pairs and in groups, some to find their bedrolls, and some to share them.
Excitement began to thrum in her veins, tail lashing behind her. Thankfully, Halsin had helped organize some proper hot baths for them before the gathering, so she was glad she wouldn’t be searching out Astarion stinking of goblin viscera. When the camp had mostly gone quiet, she returned to her tent, dabbing just a touch of lilac oil behind her ears. With one last glance around the camp, she slipped off into the woods.
Her chest was squeezing with nervous excitement as she neared her destination. Her mind was starting to run away with her, wondering if it had all been some cruel joke, or if maybe she had misunderstood him. But then he materialized out of the shadow, his pale skin and hair practically luminous in the moonlight. He had already removed his shirt, his lean chest on full display.
“There you are,” he said, voice practically a purr as he advanced. “I’ve been waiting.”
He had considered all the lines he could use, all the things he could say to reduce Morgana to so much putty in his hands. She was too sharp for the usual flowery lines of desire that he was used to using. Morgana would need a more… personal touch. He stepped into her space, holding her gaze and allowing himself a moment to just take her in. She really was beautiful, a strange softness to her face in contrast with her rather intimidating coloration, tattoos, and piercings.
He knew how vicious she could be, and that she would smile baring all her teeth as she slit the throat of an enemy. That was every bit as attractive to him as her body, and with the way her tail was arching and her lips were slightly parted, he could tell that the feeling was very mutual.
“Is there anywhere you don’t want me touching?” Morgana asked, the gentleness of her voice shaking Astarion from his thoughts. “Anything I shouldn’t do?” For all that she expected this to be a one time roll in the hay, that didn’t mean she was going to forget her manners.
Astarion blinked, suddenly at a loss for words. He had expected her to be hungry and eager, not… checking in with him? “You don’t have to worry about me, darling,” he murmured, letting a finger trace the line of her jaw and then dragging his knuckle down the column of her throat. “I’ve been waiting to have you all evening.”
Despite the fluttering in her chest, Morgana grinned back at him. “You don’t have me yet, love,” she murmured. She caught his hand, lifting it to kiss his wrist with that same softness. “Answer my question.” She held his gaze. When he still paused, she exhaled softly. “I’ll go first, alright? Don’t grab my face. Touching, kissing, nibbling, all perfectly fine. Just no grabbing.”
Astarion was still trying to regain his footing. He was supposed to be in control of this interaction. He hadn’t expected Morgana to try to inquire about his limits. It was far more consideration than any of his other numerous partners had given him. Surprisingly, he felt a little of the tension in his chest letting go. Morgana apparently had the annoying ability to put him at ease, or at least something far closer to it than he was used to feeling.
But then that meant he actually had to come up with something. He had… never really considered his limits. It simply hadn’t been an option before, he’d had to do what he was told. But now, he felt lost, back going tense. He knew that it would show on his face soon, and he had to…
Morgana saw the hesitation, and tilted her head, releasing his wrist. “No biting?” she guessed, mistaking his pause for not wanting to impede her in some way.
Astarion latched onto the logical assumption, nodding. “Smart girl,” he murmured. “Now come here.” He slid a hand around her waist, pulling her up against him, stopping just short of a kiss.
His skin was pleasantly cool to the touch when Morgana’s hands settled on his chest, and she briefly thought about how nice it would be to lean her bare skin against his during the heat of the summer. His hand slid under her chin, tilting her up into a soft kiss. He let it linger just a moment before he pushed, slipping his hand into her hair and deepening the kiss with a flick of his tongue against her lips.
Even his kiss was cool, and it did nothing to quench the heat Morgana could feel gathering between her legs, his arm around her back holding her firmly against him while his other hand sought her belt. Morgana let go of the last of her restraints, breaking the kiss only long enough to shed her vest and tug her shirt up over her head.
If Astarion had been anyone else, his heart might have skipped a beat as she shed her stay, shivering as the cool evening air found her bare breasts. The purple freckles on her cheeks were repeated across her body, little constellations of color that one could have spent hours counting and tracing. Her tiefling ridges followed her collar bones and flowed along her ribs.
She began the second kiss, nibbling only with her blunt front teeth before seeking his tongue with hers again. Astarion found the ridges repeated on her hips, as if leading the way to his desire while his hand deftly undid her belt with a single hand. To her surprise, he also knew to reach behind, undoing the ties that kept her trousers up around her tail. Drawing back to hold her gaze, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband and pushed her trousers down, taking her smallclothes with them.
Morgana kicked out of her clothes and sandals in a few quick motions. No sooner was she done, then Astarion was ducking down, grabbing the backs of her knees and forcing her to grab his shoulders as he lifted her off her feet. He swallowed her cute little squeak of surprise in another, even hungrier kiss, is fangs skimming her lips and drawing tiny pinpricks of blood to the surface. He surprised himself with a soft groat at the taste of her.
Morgana’s arms wound around Astarion’s shoulders as he carried her, locking her legs around his waist as her back thumped up against the trunk of a tree. Astarion was panting into the kiss, and she saw his pupils blown wide when it broke. He had tasted her, and was hungry for more. The only thing she’d kept on was her magical pendant, so she smiled at him with lidded eyes.
She turned her head and arched her neck, offering the vampire her throat. Astarion growled, the sound hungry and animalistic. He pulled Morgana back, turning and following her in a half fall to the ground, climbing over her. Again, Morgana offered her neck, and Astarion didn’t waste another second.
As his fangs pierced her flesh, Morgana felt her memories tangling with the moment. She remembered the whisper of Amalyn’s voice in her ear, and the feather-soft brush of her lips before she sank her fangs into Morgana’s throat, all of it mingling with Astarion’s bite. She remembered the feeling of Amalyn’s much cooler skin pressed against her own, and when Astarion pulled back, licking blood from his lips, Morgana saw Amalyn’s crimson eyes for a moment instead of his.
Blinking him back into focus, she took him in, trying to get her mind to focus. She grabbed the back of his neck, pushing up on her elbow to kiss him hungrily. Her chest squeezed as she tasted her own blood on her lips, memory once more trying to sink its claws into the wonder of the moment before her. Her hand on his back felt the raised texture of scars, and that was enough to ground her back in reality. Amalyn hadn’t had scars. This was Astarion; vicious, sharp, and nothing like the sweet-natured Amalyn.
But when the kiss broke, both of them gasping as their brows rested together, Morgana knew she couldn’t look him in the eye. Her chest squeezed painfully, and her mask must have slipped, because Astarion pulled back enough to actually look at her, tilting her chin up with his hand.
“Something the matter, darling?” he said, voice soft and almost breathless. There had been… something almost like discomfort in her eyes. He couldn’t have that; he wanted her relaxed and pliant, happy to be worshipped and to be lost in him.
She quickly recovered, using her thumb to swipe the remaining blood from her lips before licking the digit clean. She decided that with as observant as Astarion was, he would catch her if she outright lied. So, he would get the truth, just not the whole of it. “It’s just… been a very long time for me, and your eyes are…” She let herself stare back at him, biting her lip as she held his gaze and then looked away. “It’s… intense.”
And it wasn’t a lie, not really. He was beautiful; all cat-like grace and eyes that made her think of rich, sweet wine. And if she was honest, she hadn’t actually thought that their flirtatious looks and banter would ever amount to anything, let alone this. But here she was, and Gods… Astarion looked beautiful in the moonlight.
Lunging up, she kissed him again, and he seemed almost caught off guard by the tenderness of it, hesitating a moment before he leaned into her, one cool hand sliding up her side. Her startlingly warm hands slid up his stomach and then around to his back, unflinching as they encountered the scars. He cupped the back of her head, trying to deepen the kiss, but she eluded him, a smile in her eyes as she kissed along his jaw.
He braced for the feeling of a mouth on his neck, but it didn’t come. Instead, she laid a kiss at the start of his collarbone at the base of his throat, one of her hands slipping into his hair, claws gently stroking his scalp. His drifting mind was pulled gently back into the moment, Morgana’s touch tender and genuine. A quiet sigh escaped him, turning to a soft groan as both her hands massaged his scalp, lips tracing a line of soft, enticing kisses across to his shoulder.
Kissing the shell of his ear, Morgana let her tail move just enough to stroke his thigh. He tensed slightly, and she pulled back to look him in the eye again. “Let me thank you for putting up with the hero worship?” she asked, her tail curling around his thigh and eyebrows raised in question.
It took everything Astarion had not to blink in surprise. It wasn’t that he was unused to his marks being enthusiastic participants, but they were usually content to let him do as he pleased with them. Morgana’s hands were still gently stroking his sides, just firm enough not to tickle. She was… waiting for permission, he realized. She was trying to relax him, to do something for him…
But he needed to maintain control, no matter how soft her gaze or how inviting her touch was.
Instead, he gave her a hungry, vulpine grin. “No, my dear,” he murmured, gently prying her hands from him, lunging in and pinning them back to the ground. “I think it’s you that’s going to be devoured.” He could practically hear her heartrate jump as he squeezed her wrists, just as quickly releasing her to crawl back down her body, hiking her legs over his shoulders with practiced ease.
Morgana’s breath hitched at the kiss against her thigh, all too aware of his fangs, and the rushing of her femoral artery under his lips. But this solved the problem of eye contact just as well as her own plan, which had just been the inverse of his. His hands anchored on her hips, her tail shifting to curl loosely around his wrist, not a restraint, but another caress.
Her hand sank gently into his hair as his tongue parted her folds, breath slipping from her in a slow, trembling exhale. Gods, it had been a long time, and Astarion was good. He started slowly, tracing the shape of her with his tongue. He was struck again by the almost spiced taste of her, and briefly tried to remember the last tiefling he’d bedded. But her gentle claws on his scalp were distractingly pleasant, the light tug on his hair also surprisingly enjoyable.
When he began to target her clit in earnest, she let out the sweetest little groan, trailing off into strange curse with an Infernal edge that made the skin on his back prickle. The spiced taste of her blood was echoed in the taste of her cunt, and he pulled her closer with a soft hum; it was always nice when his marks were as delicious as they were cooperative. And beautiful, too. Glancing up, a violet flush was creeping down her tattooed neck to her heaving chest.
The cool brush of his tongue was achingly familiar, but he hadn’t left a trail of stinging bites up her thighs. He was… strangely sweeter than Amalyn, and it let Morgana break the grip of memory. Amalyn had been sweet and kind in her day-to-day life, but as a lover had favored bites, bruises, and long-lasting marks.
Astarion was all viciousness in life, and strangely tender as a lover. Her own body was heating, reacting both to the newness and excitement, as well as Astarion’s evidently well-practiced tongue. She felt the frost of the Hells on her own as she uttered another Infernal curse, a shudder rolling through her as heat began to gather, a glowing ember at the base of her spine.
Morgana’s tail squeezed his wrist briefly before she pulled it back, moving it to just lash beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, Astarion caught the quick jerks and trembling curls of her tail, and smirked to himself at the clear display of her pleasure. It was… surprisingly endearing. Even more so when he felt the muscles in her thighs begin to twitch and flex, her hand leaving his hair to dig furrows in the dirt with her claws.
All previous lovers evaporated from Morgana’s mind, the cool evening air she gasped mingling with the frost of her curses. The cool on her tongue was completely at odds with the heat spooling tighter and tighter in her core. It was a slow build, the strokes of his tongue deliberate and repetitive. She had been fully expecting him to be the teasing sort of lover, but he was building her steadily to the peak without any signs of slowing down.
“Fuck! Astarion…” His name came stilted and sharp, her peak cresting and her voice tapering off into a guttural groan as she fell over the edge, the ember of heat bursting outwards, heat twisting out into her limbs as her mind briefly went blank in the face of the pulsing rhythm of her orgasm.
Astarion felt her legs quivering around him, squeezing as she came. The smell and taste of her filled his senses, and it was all he could do not to sink his fangs into her thigh for another drink. He let her down gently from the peak, kissing her thigh before he felt her fingers slip under his chin, pulling gently. Grinning, he followed her hand up, crawling over her and looking down to survey his handiwork. She was deeply flushed, the purple hue having crept all the way down her neck to her heaving chest, eyes glassy.
Morgana was still half floating, and smiling up at Astarion, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. She groaned at the taste of her slick on his tongue, and wondered what it would taste like mixed with her blood on his lips as well. Gods, what had she gotten herself into? The intensity of her desire scared her, and she broke the kiss, grinning at him before she rolled under him, coming up on her knees and arching her tail out of the way to grind back against him.
“Please, Astarion,” she murmured, voice low and almost growling.
Coming up on his knees, Astarion had a full view of her tattooed back, and realized that he was looking at the text of her pact with Fensuren, for what else could that swirling mess of impossible text be? He pushed the realization quickly aside, for it hit far too close to home. “So needy,” he teased, reaching down and grabbing a careful, deliberate handful of her hair. She moaned softly as he tugged, her tail wrapping around his waist for balance as he pulled her up against him.
As much as she was giving him all the signs that she wanted to proceed to the main event, Astarion found himself wanting to linger. The taste and smell of her still filled his senses, and his hands began to wander. Her head fell back on his shoulder, and he sealed his mouth over his earlier bite, shivering at her little whine of intermingled pain and pleasure.
His fingers traced the ridges up her stomach and over her ribs, feeling tiny claws pressed against his chest from her shoulder blades. He cupped her breasts, and realized that he had somehow missed two other piercings. “Well, well, aren’t you just full of surprises,” he murmured, plucking at the little bars pierced through her nipples. Her back arched sharply, another stuttered Infernal curse making his back tingle.
“Please, Astarion,” Morgana whined again, more urgently. “I want to feel you.” A thought occurred to her, and she grabbed the amulet, its glow briefly illuminating the small clearing. She turned her head as much as she could, fingers sliding into the soft curls of Astarion’s hair. “Drink from me while you fuck me.”
Astarion’s brain shorted out. All his plans and schemes and manipulations stuttered to a halt. Heat seared through his veins, animalistic hunger taking control as he buried his face in her neck, breathing deeply. She smelled of sweat and sex and blood. She smelled like sweet, floral fire. Astarion felt something blooming inside of him, searing and consuming.
He… wanted?
It was hunger for her blood certainly, but there was something else… something he was too far gone to pursue or name.
He pried her tail from around his waist, yanking at his belt. Morgana whimpered, trying to arch and angle herself to make it easier for him. His fingers dug into her hip, almost hard enough to bruise. His fangs pierced her flesh in the same moment his cock pushed into her, her cry some strangled mix between pain and pleasure. They both fell forward, Morgana going down onto her elbows with Astarion’s arm locked around her middle.
There was no slow start, no easing her into it. She was slick and warm and Astarion felt like he was falling, her blood on his tongue and her cunt squeezing around him. His hips hammered against hers, rough and heavy. Everything else seemed to fade at the edges, narrowing to a single point. He felt her tail curl around his waist again, a band of almost searing heat. Her hand found his where it braced against the ground, her groan rumbling in his ear.
Morgana felt electric, the stretch of him quickly giving way to powerful, rapid thrusts, his fangs an icy contrast in her neck. She felt lightheaded, and realized she might have bitten off a bit more than she could chew. If Astarion had been imprisoned for almost two centuries, and she was the first thinking creature he’d drunk from, it was highly likely that he’d never done this before.
But Gods, did she feel alive like this. She hadn’t let herself just submit to someone in so long, and she’d missed it. And the heady feeling of letting him drink from her at the same time was indescribable. It was halfway between life and death, a meeting of living and undead shared and connected in the very essence of her being. She felt herself slipping, shadows eating at her vision.
“Astarion…” Her voice was quiet, hand groping for the amulet in case he was too lost to hear her.
But she said his name so sweetly, and Astarion hadn’t been driven by true vampiric hunger. He came off her neck with a gasp, pressing his face into her skin as his hips slapped wetly against hers. He could feel it, that strange, almost unfamiliar heat at the base of his spine. He wanted to bury himself in her, to get lost in that smoke-flower scent. Her blood smeared on his face, her fingers woven with his.
He wanted to see her.
Morgana’s moan became a pitiful whine as he pulled out of her, and then she yelped as he rolled her over, the strength of it surprising her. His lips practically slammed into hers, tasting of blood and slick. One hand tugged at one of her piercings, swallowing her whine as she arched under him. He pushed his leg up under hers, and Morgana hiked her leg over his hip as he slid into her again, easy as a dream.
Again, he started a punishing, almost desperate face, leaving pinpricks of blood along her bottom lip and sucking as gently as he could manage. Morgana threw her arms around him, claws digging in for a brief moment before she remembered herself, instead sinking a hand back into his curls. She held him in the kiss, and for a moment he let her take control, licking hungrily into his mouth.
Her hands were maddening, dancing up his sides and along his back. For once, Astarion wasn’t hurrying towards the end. He… he wanted it to last. He broke the kiss, rearing back to gather her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head. She looked…
Astarion didn’t have the words for it.
She was flushed, lips, neck, and shoulder smeared with her own blood; she’d been hungry for it. She’d been hungry for him, but not in a way he was familiar with. He shoved the feeling inside, curling down over her as he started his thrusts anew.
His cock twitched, and Morgana bucked his hips. “More,” she gasped, tail coming around his back and trying to urge him on. He didn’t have it in him to resist. His thrusts quickened, the slick sounds of her filling his ears, her scent nearly overpowering.
The rest of the world evaporated for them both. No memory, no past, no pain. Just the two of them, down in the dirt and bathed in moonlight. It all faded to a whine in his ears as Astarion felt himself coming undone, hips stuttering and his groan coming out as a desperate whine in her ear. Morgana turned her head, pulling him into a sloppy, bloody kiss. His clumsy tongue pricked itself on her fangs, and it was her almost grateful whimper that pushed him over the edge. A completely unfamiliar pleasure swept through him, burning away the hollow memories for just a few more blessed moments.
The sudden rush of heat inside her made Morgana shiver, head dropping as she broke the kiss with a groan. Astarion collapsed, panting, against her, his cool skin a blessing.
As Astarion slowly came back to himself, rising up through the ebbing haze of pleasure, he was hit by a wave of confusion. That had been… different. Had he… enjoyed himself? It had been so so different from all the times before, something warm and bright hanging just beyond his grasp even now. He rose up on his elbows, easing out of Morgana and rolling to fall on the ground beside her.
His eyes were closed when Morgana looked over, but there was a true living flush on his cheeks, and the faintest hit of a bemused smile on his lips. She felt lightheaded, and touched the amulet, feeling some of the unsteadiness fade. However, it did nothing to remove the warm, liquid feeling that was settling into her bones.
Her eyes wandered the clearing, and she realized that Astarion had laid out a bedroll and a blanket over by the rockface. Sitting up, she blinked it into focus. There was even a bottle of wine and a pair of mismatched goblets. A warmth that had nothing to do with the ebbing heat between her thighs bloomed in her chest. Had he really been intending to make a night of it? Had he intended to romance her?
As her body cooled, the dirt and grass got less comfortable. With a groan, she sat up, head swimming for a moment before her vision cleared. Still adjusting to being mostly blind in one eye, it took her a moment to find her smallclothes. She used them to clean herself, forgoing her stay and just pulling her shirt and trousers back on.
Astarion, watching through lidded eyes, fully expected her to walk off back to camp, leaving him behind. Instead, pushing the hair from her eyes, she turned and smiled at him, lids lowered and tail moving like a contented cat. He felt no small amount of satisfaction, watching her waver on her feet for a moment before she moved over to the bedroll he’d laid out. He had almost completely forgotten about it, and realized that they could have fucked on a relatively dirt free surface if he’d remembered.
Morgana dropped down, letting the day’s exhaustion finally kick in. She was so tired; too tired to go back to camp. “You can stay if you want,” she murmured, even as her eyelids drooped. She wanted him to say, but she wouldn’t beg. She hung in twilight for a while, just listening to the quiet nighttime sounds. Then, just as she was drifting off, she felt a cool back bump up against her chest.
Astarion blinked as Morgana sleepily wound her arms around him, nuzzling against his back with a sigh. He wasn’t quite sure what had compelled him to stay, but he rationalized it with the thought that she would be more likely to come back for more if he didn’t leave her cold and alone in the morning. He could keep her wrapped around his finger and maintain his safety. He… wouldn’t mind staying like this for a while, too. It wasn’t so bad to have someone so warm curled up against him.
He let himself drift, just thinking, casually planning, until the sun began to rise.
000
Morgana was woken by the sun, its light prying insistently at her closed lids. She rolled onto her side, blinking and hoping it would be a less rude awakening if she was looking at the underbrush rather than the sky. She blinked the world into focus, rolling onto her back and sitting up when her eyes stopped burning. It was just now dawn, with the sunlight tinged pink and orange as it climbed over the horizon.
Her eyes quickly found Astarion, standing with his back to her and his arms outstretched. Even from behind, she could see that his face was upturned towards the sun, and she realized he was standing directly in a beam of it, let down through a gap in the canopy. Morgana was instantly struck with the image of a cat basking in the sun on a windowsill, a happy, distant memory from childhood.
And Astarion… he had all the reason in the world to enjoy the feeling of the sun on his skin, when before the tadpole, its touch would have been the kiss of death to him. Leaning back on her hands, she let herself admire him. For all that he was extremely lean, he had broad shoulders and his back… She paused, realizing that she now had a perfect view of the scars she’d felt the night before. What she’d assumed to be wounds left by a flail or a whip, were actually a cohesive pattern.
Sitting up, she peered closer, eyes widening as recognition finally clicked. It was Infernal. Someone had carved circles of Infernal runes into his back. Not someone; his sire, Cazador. She felt the familiar heat of anger start to bubble, knowing that so many cuts had to have been agonizing.
“Why Infernal?” She spoke without realizing, wincing as his head turned. “Sorry,” she muttered quickly. No matter how curious she was, she didn’t want to pry into something that had to have been incredibly painful and traumatic.
But Astarion spun, catching and holding her gaze. “Did you say Infernal?” he asked, voice sharp.
Morgana blinked; it hadn’t occurred to her that he didn’t know what they were. A half second later she felt incredibly stupid; he couldn’t see his reflection, of course he wouldn’t know. Pushing to her feet, she nodded. “Yes,” she said carefully, watching him reach back to touch.
“Gods, Cazador really was insane,” Astarion muttered. He expected to see sympathy on Morgana’s face when he looked back, instead he saw fire. She was enraged, and if his time with her had been any indication, it was on his behalf. The bristling that he’d felt when she mentioned them faded. “He… carved them over the course of a night,” he said quietly. His voice went quiet, almost haunted. “He made a lot of revisions as he went.”
Morgana had thought that the vampire most deserving of her hatred was King Kannoth, who had taken Amalyn from her. But now, fifty years later, she found herself despising Cazador with every fiber of her being.
“You saw my back, didn’t you?” she said abruptly, making Astarion blink. “It’s… it’s my contract. Fensuren tattooed it when I—” She broke off in a fit of coughing, magic squeezing like a hand around her throat. It went on so long Astarion actually took a step towards her, but she held up a hand. Soon enough, it subsided. “Sorry,” she muttered, eye watering. “I just… I don’t want to sound patronizing, but I… I can understand. At least a little.”
Astarion went quiet, just looking at her for a moment. She was… genuinely trying to connect with him. He felt that strange, unnamed warmth again, but put on a small, half-smile. This kindness was something he could use. “That’s… sweet. Thank you.” He was absolutely keeping his voice soft and hesitant on purpose.
Morgana offered a smile of her own, knowing a mask when she saw one. He didn’t trust her yet, not really. She couldn’t blame him, since she didn’t really trust him either. She trusted him enough not to kill her when he still needed the protection of numbers. But she wanted to trust him. They had so much in common; she wanted to offer him what comfort she could.
After all, who else could understand people like them?
“Thank you, darling,” Astarion said, voice and face brightening. “Anyways, enough pillow talk. Let’s go before those tieflings drag us into another mess!”
Morgan laughed, shaking her head as she began looking for her small clothes and stay. She felt… content. While it seemed that their quest to rid themselves of the parasites was far from over, she felt ready to start a new day.
Best to greet the world with a smile, whether it offered death or comfort. “The only tiefling you have to worry about is me, Astarion,” she teased, winking at him. She turned and began heading back to camp.
Astarion watched her go, noting the easy, fluid sway to her hips that hadn’t been there before. He smiled to himself.
This was getting easier and easier.
He flattened out the warmth in his chest, pushing it back down into the depths of things better left unsaid and unexamined.