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"What are the tenants of your vows?" He asked. |
"For Honesty, never lie. My word shall be my promise. For Courage, never fear. Act through wisened caution. For Compassion, always aid. Protect the weak, and mercy foes. For Honor, be example. Do good without harm. And for Duty, protect all entrusted in our care, our actions are our consequence." |
"Do you vow to always be Honest?" |
"Your word is now your promise. Do you vow to be Courageous?" |
"I do." Zevlor felt his heart swell. He swallowed, filled with love and such delightful joy at even pretending to uptake his former vows. |
"You are fearless, but take wisdom’s heed. Do you vow to be Compassionate?" |
"You will help others who cannot help themselves, and be merciful to your foes. Do you vow to be Honorable?" |
"You will lead as an example, you will do good without harm. Do you vow to be Dutiful?" |
Yuta smiled softly, like the envoy of a god guiding gently to a righteous path. |
"Then all will be protected by your care. You will be responsible for the consequences of your actions." |
He moved the blade to Zevlor’s other shoulder the way he imagined from fairytales be done. |
"I name thee Paladin restored. Take up your Oath." |
Zevlor took his sword as it was offered back to him, eyes wide and bright and so full of veneration as he looked on Yuta’s smiling face, the color of the rarest flowers, the softness of the finest silk. |
They both gasped. A pale glow began between them, wrapped around them. Its lukewarm light bathed them, connected them ever briefly. It faded, sinking entirely into Zevlor’s chest above his heart before it finally dimmed to nothing. He could feel the stirrings of power from within: Devotion. |
Zevlor looked down at his hands, closing them, clenching them, unclenching them. He seemed at a loss. |
Yuta touched his arm. |
"I can feel... Power," Zevlor answered his silent question with a mild confusion. "I... My Oath has been restored." |
He looked to Yuta with a quiet astonishment. Yuta pursed his lips, brow furrowed. That was certainly... odd. But he didn’t know enough about Paladin Oaths to offer any insight, himself. |
"Is that not... A good thing?" |
"It very much is, but as to how or why I... I cannot say. Restoring one’s Oath often requires a great ordeal to overcome. Penitence or sacrifice or some other grand gesture that many are simply too far gone to be able to reach. Surely the senselesly simple act of saying them again couldn’t possibly have been enough. Though there is a creeping feeling, foolishly arrogant and sacrilegious enough I’m almost afraid to say, but I wonder..." He did not, in fact say, voice catching as he looked to Yuta face. It wasn’t only his Oath that had been restored, but his Faith. He shook his head. "No. Nevermind. I’m happy to have my Oath restored. I’m happy to be by your side. Gods above, I’m happy we finally made it to Baldur’s Gate. My people can finally live the lives they deserve. It would take time, odd jobs to make ends meet, to secure themselves homes, but... Well. I’m... Happy!" |
He beamed. He’s smiled plenty, laughed a few times. But he brightly grinned, his face the very sun to Yuta’s gentle moon. |
Yuta kissed his cheekbone then nosed the pulp of his cheek, both radiating joy. |
Danger waited over the horizon, but for now they reveled in the simplest and greatest happiness, basking in the other’s warmth and adoration, letting healing and faith reclaim them. |
Zevlor curled his arm into Yuta’s, taking his other hand to kiss as he escorted his fawn from the woods to the city, dusk creeping through the trees and over the ocean waters. |
She comes to Astarion’s room one night in a panic, ready with rope. The urges have become easier to sense coming on. Most could be sated by a brutal kill of those who deserved it, but she knows a punishment is coming. Kills are never enough for Father, it’s not about the kills. It’s the savagery, the unnecessary cutting, twisting and maiming. |
It’s an art form. |
She’d gone back for Isobel to sate her urges when they were most dire, a ritualistic offering to Bhaal, pleading for any relief. It sufficed, for a time. It was an honor to lead dozens to their deaths in the aftermath and an absolute delight to watch them be consumed by shadows, their souls ripped from this earth. For weeks, she remembered how they looked as the black possessed their bodies, and how their darkened blood stained the battlefield as far as eyes could see, torn between remorse and a sick fantasy. |
"You’ll let me know the next time you need to be tied up, won’t you?’ he said the last time she tried to murder him in his sleep, and she intends to see it through. |
She enters his room in a hurry and lets the door shut behind her, finding Astarion in his typical spot; in the chair, reading. |
"What’s troubling you, love?" Astarion asks as he looks up. A silly question, he realizes it as soon as he sees the rope in her hand—they’ve been through this once before already. "Ah, you’re here to kill me again, I presume? And here I thought we’d moved past that." |
"It’s punishment," she says, standing before him and shoving the rope in his hands. "I’ve not served him adequately. Tie me." |
"Eager for this, aren’t you?" he teases, casting the rope aside. She huffs in response, annoyed by his light hearted demeanor. "I’m surprised. I imagined this must be a very unpleasant experience for you, to be restrained and rabid." |
"Don’t be stupid! Tie me, quickly, before I hurt you," she begs, terrified of herself. She glances down at her hands, as if they may act on their own. She can picture it already, how they’d leap forward and claw into his lovely face, vigilant to spare his piercing red eyes. It’d be a shame to waste those, they’d make for a fine trophy. |
"Do you think me so careless? I have all I need to survive you," he says, pulling her on top of him and leaning back. "Unless you have a hidden blade to slit my throat with." |
No, but the bloodlust inside wishes she did. From the start, she thought he’d be the perfect pretty corpse—what a joy it would be to see the vampire’s essence spill and pool beneath her. A stake is a tired trope, and even a slit of the throat would be too clean for her tastes. She’d adorn him with cuts all over and make him watch her drink the life from him like he drank from her. |
She pushes her lips to his and he readily accepts her greedy tongue. Her impatient hands seek cover beneath his shirt, crawling all over his smooth porcelain skin, daydreaming of splitting it. He’s foolish and reckless around her. She could bite, rend, and gorge on his screams, if the urge willed it. |
Maybe he enjoys the dance with death, she thinks as she guides the shirt over his head, picturing how his chest would look with slashes all over it. |
With a sharp motion, he pulls her back by the hair with one hand. With the other, he restrains her comparatively small hands by the wrists as if to prove he holds more control. |
"Take me, when I’m no longer me. Show him what I think of this pathetic display of power," she says with a fire in her eyes and Astarion feels another flourishing between her thighs. "He won’t own me." |
"You’ll never be his. You’re mine." |
The kindling in her ignites and she rocks her hips against him, smirking when a groan escapes him. Astarion keeps his grip on her hair tight but pulls her forward, nestling his face in the crook of her neck. His fangs brush against her skin and she shakes in anticipation, waiting for that familiar, satisfying pierce when he breaks her skin with his teeth; instead, he gives her small, cautious bites that make her heart pound with a fury. |
Astarion releases her hair and trails his hands along her thighs, up her sides and lifts her nightshirt up to her shoulders. The chill of his touch clashes with the fire that spreads through her whole body—her cheeks aflame as his fingertips roll over her perked nipples. |
"Astarion," she says. He’s dismantled her resolve so easily, leaving her too weak to argue with him further on the importance of his own safety. |
She finishes what he started and lifts her shirt, tossing it to the floor. Cold hands slide down over her ribs and then behind to support her back as he leans forward, pressing little kisses from her shoulder to her collarbone. Her fingers tangle in his white curls, lightly stroking while he continues his work downward, pushing her back further and further until he’s supporting almost all her weight and his lips place a kiss between her breasts. |
Astarion rises from the chair, and her legs wrap around his waist as he carries her to the bed, sitting her on the edge and standing between her legs. |
"Hands," he orders; she offers them and he ties them behind her back with rope. |
If Astarion cared to be safe, he’d tie her feet and gag her mouth. She’s a dangerous one, but he never feels truly scared of her and he carries enough confidence to toy with his food first. Though she may try to separate herself from the urge, they both know her violent tendencies aren’t solely Bhaal’s "punishment’. It’s still her inside—he saw how she fought it before, and she will fight it tonight, too. |
Astarion falls to his knees and grabs her hips, pulling her to the edge of the bed. He’s hasty to remove her bottoms, pulling them down over her legs and feet before settling his head between her legs; he drapes her thighs over his shoulders and holds them in place with a tight grip. |
"Astarion, I—" |
"Quiet, love," he says, pressing his lips to her inner thigh now—intense, needy kisses that make her jolt, and tomorrow, will bruise her skin blue. "Relax for me." |
She feels sharp tips brush against her, a forewarning; she flinches, but quickly settles down, waiting patiently for his bite. |
She groans when he pierces her flesh, loud—her cry and her delectable, hot blood gushing into his mouth elicit a moan of his own and rouse him; her blood traveling straight to his cock. She squirms under him and involuntarily squeezes his head with her thighs, and it’s fucking delicious. |
He pulls away, mindful to not drink too much; she’s sure to spill more blood this evening, by both their hands. Arousal glistens on her cunt and leaks onto the bed—her body’s calling him, and it takes all of his self-discipline to not fuck her so hard the urge possesses her right then. |
"Astarion, please," she whines again, pleading with him to touch her. The only thoughts her hazed mind can produce at this point are all pure, unadulterated filth. |
"You’re making this so difficult," he says, drowning her in more soft kisses, everywhere except where she’s craving his mouth most. "Have patience, my dear. I’m savoring my meal." |
Finally, he’s dragging his tongue up along her folds, convincing her he’ll grant her the relief she craves. He’s quick to start, lapping up every last drop of her sweet arousal, but it’s not long before he slows to an absolutely punishing pace that rewards him with a frustrated moan from her mouth and increasing pressure on his ears. |
His tongue flicks across her clit, delicate and controlled, expertly drawing out more of her wetness. Her body sings for him with its writhing and whimpering, while her mind starts to wander away from her. |
Every part of her hungers for him—her hands rebel against their ties, trying to break free and pull at his hair, push him deeper into her cunt and fuck his face; her drifting mind fantasizes of how she’d suffocate him, if she could. She could crush his head between her thighs, she thinks, picturing his pale face turning ghost white under her, the screams she’d delight in, the crack of his skull; only then would she come for him, desecrating his face and plucking out his eyes. |
Blissfully unaware of her rising desire to kill him while she fucks him, Astarion thinks of how he could stay here forever, ruining her and relishing it, but he forces himself to part from her, not allowing her to get too close. |
Astarion stands and admires his work: her face flushed red, the dark puddle where he had her. He climbs on top of the bed, grabbing her waist to push her further back and covers her body with his. |
"You look positively depraved," he says before pressing his mouth to hers, ravenous and fierce, the taste of her arousal left on his lips and shared with her. She nips at his bottom lip, then parts hers to welcome his tongue—an invitation, a demand; he holds her face as he obliges, devouring her, like he wants to taste her throat. |
She’s left gasping for air by the time he lets her free. He wipes the mess of her mixed fluids from his face with the back of his hand and licks it off as she stares. It’s filthy, it’s primal, and it’s the last she can take before fully losing her mind to her violent whims. Out of breath and lightheaded, she passes out. |
When she wakes, bare with her hands and legs tied, she’s furious—she thrashes, tries to kick, screeches obscenities at the pale elf standing before her. She’s not herself. Her vision is clouded and washed with red; her brain repeats grotesque thoughts of brutal murder and horrific fantasies of dining on her victims’ innards. |
Not fantasies, she realizes—they’re memories of a better, brighter time, when she was free to kill and maim, and was rewarded for it. |
"Darling, you’re awake," he greets her in a sickeningly pleasant voice. "It’s not been long, but I missed you all the same." |
She imagines reaching her claws deep down his throat and shredding his vocal cords, sure that many would thank her. |
She spots a dagger on the table beside the bed. Determined to take it for herself and stab her captor with it over and over until he’s a bloody pile of unrecognizable viscera, she lunges for it. It’s useless with her restraints. Her actions are brainless, reminiscent of a creature driven by pure bloodlust. To anyone else, it would be terrifying; to him, it’s almost humorous. |
"Can’t you be nice?" Astarion asks her in a petulant tone, like a parent scolding their child. |
He catches her from behind in the midst of her tantrum and presses his body to hers, pushing her forward and trapping her tight between himself and the headboard. He wraps one hand around her throat; a loose but disciplined grip that’s just enough to crane her head towards him. |
"Beautiful," he whispers, his lips and the warmth of his exhale brushing against her ear. Whether she wants to not in her current state, all the way from her ears to her feet and her face reddens. |
He kisses along her ear and down her neck and it only infuriates her that much more; she tries to flail and escape him, but he’s prepared for her fight and the hand around her neck wins. His free hand reaches around her front, exploring every piece of her body he can get his hands on as he continues with his kisses on her shoulders and back. |
"Ah, you’re feisty," he says, laughing when she tries to lunge and bite him. "Good effort, but as you can see, I hold all the power here." |
He moves his hand lower, along her hips and thighs, fingertips lightly trailing further in. Even in this state, arousal pools in her cunt as he touches her and the heat practically radiates off her body, sharing warmth with her lover. |
"Even like this, you crave me," he taunts, fingers running over her folds, wet and sensitive for him already. |
He slips a finger in her wet cunt, curling it forward, gently caressing her soft spot; she gasps and moans while he finger fucks her, and Astarion can feel the vibrations of her noises on his hand constricting her neck. |
"You’ll look—ah—so much prettier... after I’ve turned you inside out," she hisses, hitching on her words, struggling between the moans his hand forces from her and the pressure on her throat. "I’ll—I’ll crush your dead heart and... feast on it." |
"I wish you could behave yourself," he says, giving her throat a quick squeeze, to remind which one of them is in control."We could have so much more fun that way." |
Astarion pushes another finger inside her, finding pleasure in her increasingly incoherent snarls and ragged breathing. Every time he thrusts into her up to his knuckles, her body twists and quivers; her mouth’s desperate to hurl another threat, but he’s fucking her faster and lazily rubbing his thumb against her clit, reducing her to nothing—she can’t find the words anymore. |
"You want me to fuck you so badly," he purrs, curving the fingers inside her in a deliberate, slow motion. She throws her head back against his shoulder and tries to grind against his hand, feral and frantic, proving his claims. |
A loud cry escapes her as Astarion withdraws, robbing her of release; a sound that goes directly to the erection straining against the fabric of his pants. |
"I could end you right here, you know," he goads, tightening his grip on her throat. "Crush your pretty neck like it’s nothing. Make you bleed out on this bed. How would you want it, if you had the choice?" |
"I’ll gouge out your ruby eyes," she chokes out. "Wear them as earrings." |
"Romantic. Not what I asked, though," he says, shaking his head. "A shame." |
Astarion kisses her neck, along her jaw, her face—anything he can reach, loving her, even if she won’t love him back. He frees her from his grasp before he sheds the rest of his clothes, his cock painfully hard and tip dripping with pent-up anticipation. |
"Ah," he exhales as he presses against her, sliding along her sticky wet slit, covering himself in her wetness. "Gods, what have you gotten me into?" |
His nails dig into her sides and threaten to draw blood as he enters her with an animalistic and uncontrollable groan. He’s rough with her, snapping her hips toward him with every thrust like he’s performing an exorcism by fucking the violence out of her. The combination of her wet, tight cunt embracing him with the pathetic, needy sounds falling from her mouth render him dizzy. |
"I’ll—I’ll—" She tries and fails to speak, overwhelmed by how his cock feels like it could burst through her chest. |
How he so quickly reduces her murderous urge to a pitiful, sweaty mess is a pleasure of its own, but fuck—he wants to kiss her, taste her, talk to her. |
"You’ll what, my love?" |
"I’ll paint the city red with your innards!" she cries, dangerously loud. Astarion covers her mouth with his hand—he would prefer their companions not get the wrong idea and interrupt. "They’ll all see your true beauty and bathe in it." |
"Your blood will paint my mouth red, and I will bathe in your beauty," he says, a low tone against her ear. |
He settles his face in the space between shoulder and neck and gives her harsh, bruising kisses that make her legs tremble and her breath catch before breaking her skin with his fangs and forcing a whimper from her lips. The movement of his hips pauses as he drinks her in, intoxicated by her essence. It sucks every last bit of his senses until all he can hear is her blood flowing onto his tongue; until he tastes, smells, sees, and feels solely her life’s dark red. |
Astarion pulls away from her, wiping away the thick red streaks smeared all over his face, and doesn’t waste a single second before burying himself to the hilt in her again, drunk in the coppery scent that lingers in the air. Her, too—it’s tantalizing, it makes her want to force out all the blood in her body and fucking drown him in it. |
"I’ll hold your head by your eye sockets and fuck you until you bleed out," she growls, and he can’t help but laugh; how comical, for her to lash out at him with her face shoved against the wall, scraping her cheeks with every thrust. |
He fucks her until she can’t speak again—until her body is shaking, her voice whittled down to heavy breaths, and he’s close to finishing. She cries such a sad sounding moan when he pulls out, it’s almost sufficiently convincing to make him think she’s come around to the idea and misses him inside her. |
"I’ll open your skin and wear you like a coat," she seethes. |
"Sure you will, darling. You’re so very scary with your hands and feet bound," he says, brushing her off with a hand motion. "Be still, you’re being ridiculous." |
As soon as he backs off, her body falls onto the bed and throws itself around again trying to break free. It’s obvious it’s involuntary—every convulse hurls her against the wall and makes the rope rub her skin raw. |
"CHOKE! DIE! YOU’LL BEG ME FOR MERCY!" |
"I hoped to avoid this," he says as he picks up another piece of rope, destined for her mouth. "But you won’t keep your damned mouth shut. And frankly, I’m getting tired of your little outbursts. It’s unbecoming." |
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