emofrogboy79

Only halfway through your B-rated movie marathon and several cases of beer later, did you realize that getting wasted on the last day of the year might not have been the brightest idea.

“Fuuuck, I’m done.” Sam slurs, “You two absorb this piss water like it’s nothing.” He gestures to you and Abigail, who finished her can then promptly crushed it with her forehead. With one flick of the wrist, she sends it into—well, on top of— the mountain of cans in the corner of the room. The stunt earns her a cheer from Sam.

You laugh, hiccups frequently interrupting you. “Says the fucker who downed the bottle of wine I brought in, you played yourself.”

“Mhmm to be fair, it was more like, half?” Abigail hiccuped, “That other half was aaaaall me baby.” She snorts while she laughs. Sam rolls his eyes, “Ugh, at least I’m not Seb, that man is passed the hell out.”

“I’m… awake…” The emo boy mumbled against your shoulder. He was quite the cuddler when he’s drunk, you’ve found out. He didn’t have as high of tolerance as either you or Abigail, and he wasn’t a competitive drinker like Sam, so he stopped drinking rather early into the night. You’d never admit it to the clingy man on your arm, but the extra warmth was welcome.

Your expression softened, “You’re practically drooling on my shoulder.”

He sluggishly shakes his head against your shoulder, “No I’m not…” His eyes were unfocused as he pouted up at you, alcohol seemed to loosen his facial muscles and the frown he gave you was absolutely adorable. You chuckled, “Hey, it’s fine if you’re sleepy, we just need to get you to bed, alright?”

He squints at you, “You sound like my mom.”

The other two erupt into laughter the comment, and your ears burn red. “Listen, I just don’t want you passing out in the middle of our walk back home.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot about that.” Sebastian yawns, “You can just carry me.”

You giggle while shaking your head. As much as you would like to, it felt wrong to indulge yourself while helping a friend. “Fuck no, don’t be lazy.”

He groans, “Fiiiine.”

“We should get going then,” You groan, pushing yourself up by your knees, “Before he actually passes out,” You wrap his arm around your shoulder and miss the look Abigail and Sam share before grinning.

“‘course, see you next year.” Sam teases, and you roll your eyes as you hoist Sebastian up on his side. He fully leans on you for support.

“Yeah, yeah, you two have fun with the leftovers.”

When you shove the salon door open, the crisp night air hits you with a wave of sobriety. Sighing, you trudge through the snow with a barely conscious Sebastian hanging from your side.

The walk was mostly quiet, save for the few times you had to wake Sebastian up from the slow walk. It was a little endearing to see him lean on you so easily, he was so aloof when you first met him that tonight made you appreciate how far the two of you have come in your friendship. The Sebastian from your first year would’ve forced himself to walk all the way home instead of rooming with Sam. Yet— at the same time, your reflection made your stomach retch with worry. The feelings that have been brewing in your heart these past few months were a danger to this peace you’ve finally acquired, and you didn’t want to lose it.

It’s not long until you get up to his house, and with how late it is, it isn’t a surprise when you tug at the door and it jangles with a lock.

“Damn. You got your keys with you?” You nudge Sebastian awake and he nods, “Pocket…Somewhere… Don’t remember…”

“Does Robin keep a spare around the front door?”

Sebastian merely shrugs.

Your frown, “Fine, hold on to me while I find your keys.” Obediently, he drapes his other shoulder on yours as you face him and check his pockets for the illusive keys. It doesn’t occur to you how close you are, but Sebastian does, and the feeling of your breath against his neck and your hands all over his body seems to wake him up just a tad.

It doesn’t last long, though, as you quickly find them in the place you should’ve triple checked, his hoodie pocket.

It takes everything in him not to groan at the loss of our touch as you tug him into his house and into his room.

“Almost there,” You mumble, and he could’ve sworn your face looked much redder than when they left the saloon. He didn’t have time to dwell on it though, as you gently pushed him onto his bed.

“There, home sweet home,” You smile, about to turn to leave, when he stops you by tugging your jacket.

He drunkenly motions for you to get closer, and lacking better judgement yourself, you comply.

Before either of you two knew it, he had pulled you into a kiss before flopping back onto his bed.

“M’thanks,” was all he mumbled, before fully passing out on his sheets.

You stood there, beet red in the face for a full minute before clearing your throat and mumbling a “you’re welcome,” before speed walking back home.

You shouldn’t think much of it, you rationalized, You couldn’t. He was drunk. It was a mistake. He might not even remember tomorrow.

Even then, you couldn’t help but touch your lips fondly as you laid in bed, trying to etch the feeling of his lips into your mind.

Lucanis throws another knife into the wooden target across his bedroom. Thunk, it sounds, just like the one before. Deep grooves dig into the grain from yet another bullseye. The repetitive nature keeps his brain just stimulated enough to stay awake, but saves him the energy of having to do some strenuous physical activities to achieve the same effect.

Still, he feels his limbs growing tired, like ochre jelly sticks to his bones rather than flesh. Several of his knives punctured his target askew, bringing a strained dread into his chest. It was the same tautness in his lungs that forbade him to breathe when he was young and training under his Grandmother𑁋 The First Talon.

Mierda, He thinks, if she saw him now she’d bring back the riding crop.

Spite groans loudly at the thoughts of his grandmother. Lucanis didn’t understand why it couldn’t just pass through the door and explore the Lighthouse for itself. It wasn’t as if they were in the physical world, where it had a tether for how far it could be from him. It would be much more productive than watching him wallow over his missed marks.

Again, with those questions looping in Lucanis’s mind, does Spite whine. Louder, and much more frustrated than the last.

“Spite. EXPLAINED.”

Lucanis raises a brow. The explanation given beforehand didn’t make any sense.

“You have to. Let me. OUT.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Lucanis grumbles, grabbing one of the cups of coffee by his bedside. It was beyond cold by now, but Lucanis didn’t have the energy to make a new brew. Not, at least, until he had to.

Spite pulled at it’s hair, scratching and messing it’s appearance, “YES. YOU CAN.”

Lucanis rolls his eyes, scoffing at yet another attempt of his demon to possess him. Spite bangs it’s head against the pantry door. Multiple times.

Lucanis pays it no mind, picking up his throwing knives with a mere flip into the air from the lightest, laziest kick his body knows. He catches them with ease, setting his metal toys down into his nightstand’s drawer. As he does so, his eyes flicker atop to the small clock sitting behind his open logbook.

Ah, it’s time to review the book club’s chosen literature. He fishes out the title, ‘Mistress of the Scarlet Moon’ , sighing as the cover graces his eyes once more. He hadn’t been enjoying the book, in truth, but he found more joy in nitpicking the inaccuracies in the story. He flips to where he left off, and Spite stops his tantrum to shuffle over and look over his shoulder𑁋fully expecting to read to him, as he always has.

Lucanis clicks his tongue in annoyance at yet another song inserted haphazardly into the pages. Right, that’s why he stopped reading for a while. Nevertheless, he endures, because while it was the book club’s second book𑁋it was his first for the club.

Between mumbling the lyrics for Spite half-heartedly and putting on a voice for a third of the characters, his vision begins to blur. He looks for his cup of coffee in his swimming vision, but with another blink, and he nods off.

Surely there wouldn’t be any consequences for dreaming in the realm dreams come from… right?

...

Lucanis blinks his eyes open before his brain catches up, heart tightening with panic. Joder, was he out long? His eyes scanned his surroundings, and thankfully, he was still in his isolated little alcove. He groans, craning his neck for any cramps from his sleeping position. While he feels nothing, he notices a distinct lack of a certain demon. A relieved sigh escapes him. Did he finally decide to take a walk?

Lucanis sets his book back onto the shelf, checking his clock once again. While he couldn’t make out the exact numbers, for whatever reason, he notices it’s time for a midnight snack. He takes his empty kettle and cups out, opening the pantry door with his back. He sets the dishes into the sink, soaking the contents for washing later. That’s when his eyes lay on a note near his coffee beans, and he dries his hands to take a look at it.

“Lucanis, whenever you’re next available, please come up to my room. I have something I want to discuss with you.”

𑁋 Rook

The hardened assassin chews at the inside of his cheek. Was it to admonish him for his failure in Weisshaupt? Or… was it his cowardice, back in the pantry?

Lucanis tucks the letter into his breast pocket and immediately starts heading towards the main building, noting that Assan was not in his usual place outside Davrin’s room. Perhaps they were off on some training regimens in Arlathan.

He frowns. Well, he better check if Rook is there at all now.

As Lucanis makes his way towards their room, the usual oppressive feeling of the ocean was nowhere to be felt. It was relieving to not hear the deep thrums of the sea, lest it pitter-patter like a spider’s crawl up his spine in the presence of his one-sided paramour. Once he finally makes it up to their gilded door, he knocks twice.

“Rook, it’s me. I got your letter."

There was a beat of silence before the door opens of its own accord, not a single footstep heard leading up to its widening creak.

“Rook…?” Lucanis calls softly, pushing open the door. As his gaze crosses the threshold of the door frame, he suddenly appears in his old bedroom, just as he had left it. He blinks rapidly at the sudden change of scenery, looking back into the Lighthouse’s hallway only to find the pristine wallpaper of his childhood home. The Dellamorte Manor.

Was this the fade playing tricks on him? Or was he truly that sleep deprived? Worries swim around in his head, especially because Spite is nowhere to be found. As annoying it was to listen to, its presence became such a norm to Lucanis that its absence was… glaring.

“Ever the worry wart, are you?” A gentle giggle from behind brushes his ears, and Rook’s scent overwhelms his senses. Their breath was hot on his ears, warm body pressed against his back. He freezes as he feels their arms wrap around his chest in a simple, deeply intimate, embrace.

Lucanis swallows a lump on his throat, turning to the presence behind him. He can only get the vague sense of their facial features, with their head’s position on his shoulder. Rook’s lips were so close, he could nearly feel their lips ghost on his.

Blood rushes to his cheeks at their proximity, he weakly mumbles their given name under his breath.

“Close the door, dear. I’m getting cold.”

Lucanis barely brushes the knob and the door swiftly swings shut, leaving him staring at the rich mahogany wood of his younger years. What in the world…?

He makes a confused noise and Rook chuckles again, hands running down the sides of his torso along his waist, nimbly leading his feet to turn around. It doesn’t strike him until it’s too late, when he’s pressed against the door and pinned underneath a very, very comfortable looking Rook.

They wore nothing but a silk robe, it hung precariously off their shoulders and scarcely hid any of their dignity. The only thing keeping Lucanis from getting an eyeful was a delicately haphazardous knot of silk, looking ready to come undone at the slightest movement or tug. His eyes immediately dart up from looking down at his companion’s body, his loins already growing uncomfortably tight with Rook so close and so scantily clad. However, meeting their eyes wasn’t any better. Rook’s piercing eyes were half-lidded with desire, pupils blown wide with a look that could almost be mistaken for a deep love.

“I finally have you all to myself,” They purr, clearly amused by Lucanis’s flustered expression. Their immaculate features glowed with etheric allure.

“What? Where𑁋 Where’s Spite?” It was a stupid question to ask. But asking Rook about what the hell they were wearing could barely register in his mind before he was blanking out with desire. It’s not like Rook seems to mind, anyway.

“On a playdate with Manfred,” They reply nonchalantly, as if it were a regular occurrence, “Emmrich will keep him occupied for a few hours. Plenty of time to properly celebrate your birthday.”

“My birthday?” Lucanis repeats dumbly, feeling an odd elation at the reveal that someone cared to remember, let alone celebrate with him.

“Of course, I could never forget, even if you did,” They smile warmly, lips perfectly kissable, “It’s only fair I treat you to something special.”

His face felt impossibly warm. Rook’s hands go from trapping him against the door to gently guiding his hands. They moved with little resistance, so willing, craving touch, while his mind swam with apprehension.

“Rook,” Lucanis says shakily, as his hands settle atop the warm muscle of his beloved’s back. His fingers sit dangerously close to the point where the slope of their ass begins. They look at him expectantly.

Lucanis shuts his eyes, embarrassed to even admit it out loud, “Are you sure? That you want this? Want... me?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Rook cups his face and a small frown curls their lips, “Abomination or not, you’re important to me, Lucanis. Your happiness matters.”

Lucanis felt a pressure behind his eyes, like the onset of tears daring to come out. This has to be a dream. An indulgent, selfish, dream.

“I am weak, Rook. So weak.” For you.

“You’re stronger than you know,” Rook’s caressing thumb on his cheek grounds him in their embrace, “You’ve been dealing with so much for so long on your own, I only want to alleviate some of your burdens.”

Lucanis turns his head to shyly kiss Rook’s palm, taking their hand in his. His eyes search for any ounce of deceit in their soul, getting lost in the rich color of their eyes.

“Cariño,” He says, squeezing their hand, “I can say the same about you.”

Rook laughs, tutting as they pull at his cheek, “Come now Birthday Boy, tonight is all about you, not me.”

Lucanis chuckles, a warm smile finally gracing his lips as he lets himself let go. He pulls the two of them closer, relishing in the heat that’s shared between their flush halves.

“You do know I’m incapable of not fawning over you, right?”

“Try your hardest,” Rook snorts, pulling Lucanis into a sweet kiss by the lapels. He’s quick to melt into the kiss and their tongues are even quicker to tangle. Months of yearning and pining has Lucanis’s hands wandering every inch of his partner’s body, trying to hold them as close to him as physically possible. He gets lost in the kiss, whining and moaning as they tease and suck on his lips and tongue. Rook busies themself with tangling one hand in his hair and the other undoing his carefully ironed collar. It felt like his chains were becoming undone with each button that was plucked open.

Rook leads them to the bed, and they hover above him as they take the lead. He had no experience, truly, and all he could do was become pliant in their hands. When the two of them finally break for air, Rook is quick to start kissing and nibbling along Lucanis’s body. He felt pathetic as involuntary whimpers escaped his lips, as their teeth tugged and marked his skin, pinching and prodding all his sensitive areas. When their nimble hands finally reached the tent in his pants, the lightest pressure had his body reeling, cum quickly staining the expensive fabric. Again, those feelings of inferiority flared in his chest, but for some reason there was a tune of elation right beside it. Like he liked being toyed with and teased. He was wound up for so long, it felt like he was in a wolven heat𑁋not unlike those steamy romance novels featuring pheromones and secondary sexes.

Surely, if pheromones existed, he’d already be high off of Rook’s scent alone.

They mumble something about being a Good Boy, in Lucanis’s ears, and if his entire face wasn’t beet red already, it surely extended to his neck with the praise. Rook unfurls his pants, letting his weeping cock free of it’s soaking wet confines. Lucanis hisses as it hits the cold air, but it still stands tall, erect. Rook hums with admiration, pulling Lucanis’s pants down further until it’s free from his legs.

Directing their attention back to the weeping cock, they look up at Lucanis with a sly smile, gently blowing on the enraged tip. He jolts, shivering and moaning weakly. He reaches to touch it but Rook stops him, eyeing him sharply. He nearly begs.

“Let me indulge you,” They giggle, swiping their hot tongue over the leftover cum left over on his cock. Lucanis couldn’t fathom why he was so sensitive, is it because it was Rook? or was he really in heat for the first time?

He sighs as yet another stripe was licked, until his cock was clean and, to his dismay, prime to release once more. Rook firmly grasps his cock, pumping it perilously until a mess of silver erupts from his member. Lucanis covers his mouth and grips his bed sheets as another fountain leaves him, only growing more aroused as Rook firmly keeps his legs open and shaking hips pinned down to the bed with their hands. He sighs, apologizing weakly for having no self-control, only for Rook to move up and kiss him gently.

“No, this is good. You’re good. I want you to lose control, to indulge in this, in me, ” They kiss him on the forehead, looking deeply into his eyes. “You have no idea how much I want to undo you.”

Something so dirty coming out of Rook’s mouth with their sultry voice makes Lucanis’s overstimulated cock twitch happily again. At the same time, his heart swells. So much of his life had been dictated by other people, to blindly follow orders, trained into a rigid self-discipline that left little room for indulgence. Even more socially experienced crows were cautioned against interpersonal relationships between each other, outsiders𑁋potential marks𑁋weren’t even in the question. He felt his years of tutelage fall apart at the seams with Rook’s heat on his body.

Lucanis pulls Rook into a shy kiss, “Please, do.”

They smile, pecking him on the lips proudly before turning their attention back to his erect cock. Rook gives the tip a swirl with their tongue, once again causing Lucanis to moan. Soon, a searing heat enveloped his member and he laid a hand on Rook’s head, weakly gripping their hair. It was so slow, the way they reached the hilt and buried themselves onto his cock, throat deep before slurping obscenely back up his member. It looked right out of an erotica, their perfect lips suckered onto his member, cheeks dusted with warmth. He couldn’t keep looking into their eyes as their head bobbed up and down with slowly increasing furiosity.

They toy with him, changing their speed when he squirms and bucks into their throat too much. Again, their fingers grip his bare hips and settle him down, only further feeding into his rising orgasm. His overstimulated cock sears with heat, both painful and indulgent, as Rook buries their nose into the hilt of his shaft. They fuck themselves on his cock, fondling his engorged balls and drawing another mew from him. Soon, a blinding white passes Lucanis’s eyes as they roll back with pleasure, a guttural moan leaving his lips as the nagging bits of embarrassment finally leave his shoulders. He can hear the gulp , gulp of his cum sliding down Rook’s throat, not even an inch of discomfort on their satisfied expression. Lucanis looks down at them blearily, blissed beyond belief.

They finally unbury themselves and his cock twitches with want, desiring to be enveloped in that wet heat again. Rook praises him as they lick their lips, “For a celibate man, you’re quick on the draw𑁋aren’t you?”

“I’m not attracted to people, much. But when I am, it’s…” Lucanis’s eyes drool all over Rook’s naked body as they climb on top of him, skin shimmering under the signature Antivan violet lights, “ Intense .”

Rook laughs, kissing him deeply and sweetly. The taste of his cum doesn’t register to him, rather the taste of chocolate and roses. His heart fills with elation as he hugs them close, etching the memory of their body into his fingers. Time seems to blur, and when Lucanis next opens his eyes, instead of his beautiful paramour, he’s met with the familiar, dingy pantry ceiling.

There was a sharp inhale as he sits up, making sure he isn’t someplace he shouldn’t be. Then he relaxes𑁋no, he melts with embarrassment, as Spite stands over him.

“See? Rook. Likes us!”

Lucanis scowls and clicks his tongue, fussing over his wet trousers as he quickly throws them off, “ Que te jodan, that was just a dream. That wasn’t actually Rook,” He wipes off any remaining moisture off his legs with the dry part of his pant leg. He’ll have to visit the sauna when no one is around to attend to this. For now, Lucanis replaces his bare bottoms with a towel. He soaks the offending garments in a bucket with soapy water.

Spite groans, “No, That WAS Rook.”

“I know you’re a demon who lives in the fade, but dreams𑁋 they’re𑁋” Lucanis massages his temple, dumbfounded that he has to explain this concept to a centuries old spirit, “ Different. They’re not reality.”

“IT IS!” It seethes, “IT’S REAL!”

“Maker help me,” Lucanis sighs deeply, despite being of a more agnostic faith himself, “Fine, I’ll ask Emmrich if that’s true, then I’ll believe you. Happy?”

Spite’s frown was nearly cartoonish, the way it crosses it’s arms and huffs like a child, “FINE,” It mocks, “At least. We get to talk. To Curiosity.”

Lucanis sighs again, this time from a mild relief, like a parent dealing with a stubborn child, “Good. We’ll stop by after a trip to the sauna.”

Spite’s groan echoes throughout the pantry and into the dining room as it’s dragged along by it’s invisible, demonic tether outside of their room. They never mentioned the downsides of living in the physical world like this!

The End... For Now :)

1. Light-sensitivity

In his Agent Trust Event, he tells you that while his eyes have healed from the injury, it still flares up sometimes. Hence, the sunglasses. I personally headcanon —in addition to it being an emotional "barrier" between him and others— that they're his disability aid :]

2. Blue Flames

He's the strongest there is, rivaling Caesar herself. Instead of the typical red flames, his flames appear as bright blue before they lower in temperature. See: Azula From Avatar The Last Airbender

3. Runs Cold

I know a lot of Lighter fics have him running hot, but (pushing up glasses nerdily) Entropy Or Whatever (I have no idea how it works but fuck it we ball), so when he uses his flame abilities his body gets noticeably colder to the touch for a while. He doesn't notice it until someone touches his bare skin and they're like wow, dude, are you okay. You're Super Cold. And he's like ??? I'm fine? It's a side effect of his extra hot flames.

That way you can have nice cool cuddles during summer and warm cuddle winters 🫣

4. Emotional Power

IMO, a lot of his flame-conjuring is based off emotion. He used to be just a physical fighter like Jane, but after he spent time in The Underground Fight Scene, his flames ignited—earning him the moniker of Lighter. He was mad at himself for his short-comings as a leader—and in a way—the flames manifested as physical representations of his guilt. It burned him alive.

5. Touch Sensitive

Not per-say, touch starved (he gets enough bear hugs from Caesar) but touching his bare skin is Significant to him. He has Alot of scars, to the point it would be deeply concerning to see someone of his age (Mid-late twenties) with that many. Especially so with the (hc'd) scar on his eye (the one that he covers).

He doesn't mind answering questions about his scars, but dislikes it if you poke fun at him for them. Many of them came from the underground arena, as illegal weaponry was used.

Touching his bare hands are a Big One for him. He usually has them in gloves or bandages, since they're supremely fucked up. He also thinks that his hands have been used to hurt so many people, that anything soft like holding his hand or kissing his bruised knuckles would make his heart ache.

5. Smoker

Yeah with a name like Lighter it would be crazy if he wasn't. Though, it's infrequent. He is guaranteed to smoke on bad nights when he can't sleep, or on particular anniversaries.

6. Light-weight

In his agent trust events, he says himself that he's a light weight with alcohol 😳 Your Proxy can out drink him!

7. Tigers are his favorite animal

Like why else would he have that gaudy animal print on his hip pouch and jacket 😭

8. Light country accent

He didn't grow up in the Outer Ring like Caesar, so his accent isn't as strong, but he's lived there for a significant amount of time. It's rubbed off on him a little.

9. Fond of nicknames

Prefers calling people he doesn't know well by nicknames. Lucy was called "Princess" for the longest time, before her and Lighter became like family.

10. Lighter isn't his government mame

Astarion was noticeably different after you got out of that crypt.

He was unusually quiet, staring off into space when you were with the others. It wasn’t unusual for him to slink off and for you to find him all by himself, wrapping his arms around himself.

When he hadn’t noticed you yet, his shoulders slumped, his eyes glazed over. He tried so hard to keep up appearances, like he always did. He was good at it—the others scarcely noticed. But you did. You noticed him.

When you approached him, your heart ached. The way he was always so alert, you had barely gotten him to relax around you only for him to regress.

“Astarion?” You called. He already knew you were there. You knew that he knew, too.

“Yes my dear?” He smiled wide for you, a mirror to the first time you met. How his smile never reached his eyes, so keen to please.

“Care for a bath? I’ve got it all ready for you.”

He laughed, “Darling…” His voice dips in that seductive mask he doned to protect himself, “If you wanted to bed me, you could have just asked.“

Concern laces your expression, “No, I mean it Astarion. Just a bath.”

His face fell immediately, examining your face for any hint of deceit, any ulterior motives to getting him undressed and pliable in your hands. Yet, all he saw as he peered into your eyes was a deep sadness.

Another smile—smaller, more hesitant, curled at his lips, “Then how could I say no?”

You huff, “You’re certainly welcome to,” You remind him.

You lead him into the Elfsong suite’s bathroom, where you had set up a decadent bath just for him. A marble tub, filled with that sweet bergamot and rosemary scent he was oh so known for. A towel and robe was set aside for him, candles decorating any dark corners of the room. It was romantic in every sense of the word, ripe for sensual activity…

“How could I, after all you’ve gone through for me?” His eyes once again search yours for any hint of deception. His tone was teasing but you knew his words always had more weight to it. For 200 years, affection was a transaction to him. A thing to be used to his advantage. There was no such thing as kindness out of your own heart to him—only a debt that needed to be repaid. It was one he could never truly fulfill, either—because how do you pay someone back for giving you freedom?

“You know my answer.”

Astarion pouts for only the briefest of moments, “Very well,” He smirks, slipping past you and deeper into the bathroom, “Don’t peak now~”

You turn your whole body away to let him undress, hearing his clothes drop to the floor and him dip into the pool of warm water, and lastly, a relaxed sigh as he slips further into the tub.

“May I?” You call, only turning your head slightly towards your lover, eyes shut obediently.

“Yes, yes, come here already you boring sod,” He sighs with a laugh, resting on the edge of the tub as he watches you saunter over, “Moonlighting as a butler now, are we?” He reaches for your hand, and you take his. You bow down and kiss his knuckles tenderly, “You look like you need pampering tonight, that’s all.”

“Darling… I always need pampering,” He giggles, cheeks flushing just the faintest as you kiss his hand. He watches you grab the bucket full of soaps and brushes, sitting by his side, fully clothed in your camp gear.

“A little more pampering than usual then,” You smile, “I’m going to pour some water on you, alright?”

“Not going to join me?” He pouts, and it’s genuine. He wants to feel more of you, more of your touch, the sensation of warm safety he had been missing all these centuries.

“Do you want me to?”

“Please,” He bats his eyelashes at you. You laugh, “Okay, fine. Scoot over.”

Astarion does as he’s told and makes room for you as you rip off your clothes, placing yourself behind him as you bring the bucket of supplies into reaching distance.

He purrs happily, “There you are my sweet.”

You snort, taking a small pail from your bucket. You dunk it into the warm water and let it cascade over his white curls, letting the less stubborn of the blood covering him wash into the pool, staining it a light pink.

“Lean back for me,” You hold his head in your hands as you massage in the soaps, letting it sud up into a lovely cloud of bubbles, careful to not let it fall into his eyes. He sighs with every scratch, his pink ears twitching happily under your touch as you hum a sweet melody. It takes everything in him to not fall asleep right there.

“Rinsing…” You murmur, once again using the pail to rinse Astarion’s hair. As you coat your hands in conditioner, you make sure to not to pull or tug as you detangle the soft curls in your hands. They spill into your fingers like sea foam on the shore, whispering a soft apology when he flinches at a particularly stubborn knot.

“Enjoying yourself?” He mumbles, eyebrows not so knitted together than before. You look down at him, the slope of his nose, the light wrinkles and imperfections of his skin, faint freckles dotting his cheeks from exposure to the sun. His eyelashes, long and soft like the mop on his head. If Dame Aylin was an angel, perhaps he had just lost his wings.

“Very,” You chuckle, “Now sit up for me, I’m going to wash your body.”

“Oh finally,” He grins, and you gently tug at his cheek, “No naughty business, mister,” You whisper in his ear, body flushed with his. Little did you know that this action made his body light up in a flame, every part you touched him burning as hot as the sun.

That would be a very tall order from you, but one he would obey happily nonetheless.

You pull away from him to coat your hands in the next viscous liquid in your bucket, acquired from a lovely aromatherapist down by the market. You massaged it over his back, taking extra care to ease the tenseness in his shoulders as you brush over the scars on his back. You move to coat his torso, relishing in the way his heart beats so strongly under your touch as you ghost over his pecs, smoothly gliding down the soapy ambrosia to his hips. You ignore the way he shivers at the way you gently knead at his upper thighs, and you do not linger—much to his dismay—as you grab a sponge and suds over where you touched him, head resting on his shoulder as you individually scrub his dainty fingers. A warmth blooms in his lungs, a gnawing, awful, retching feeling—like his heart was going to swell out his chest. He blinks away tears as you run over his pulse. It was faint, but oh so much stronger when he was with you.

“You’re a tease, you know that?” He turns to you, caressing your jaw to make you look at him. You see him eyeing your lips, and you give in— planting the smallest kiss on his lovely lips.

“Better?” You smile as you see him pout, “Hardly,” he whines. You chuckle as you kiss his cheek, “Must I massage you as well?”

“Perhaps,” He huffs, “Anything to keep your hands on me, love.”

“Are you that starved of touch?” You motion for him to turn around and face you, taking one of his legs and repeating the cleaning process. It’s hard for you to keep your concentration on just soaping his legs— it was a simple task, but the temptation to stare at Astarion’s flushed face, hair slicked back and curled to frame his jaw, deep ruby eyes filled with a fondness you never would have expected to see when you first met him—was a greater desire than reading than trying to read that book of Thay.

“You underestimate how much I crave you my dear,” He laughs, “It rivals even my hunger for blood, you know.”

“Really?” You smirk, “Then am I to assume your love me more than your taste for blood?”

Astarion leans back against the rim of the tub, admiring you as you rinse his raised leg with such gentleness.

“Just barely.”

You blink up at him, genuinely surprised, before you melt into a shy smile, “Careful now, you can’t exactly eat my love for you, you know.”

“I wouldn’t dare. You’ve given me too much already.”

You splash him and he yelps, “That’s for implying you don’t deserve it.”

Astarion gasps, his exaggerated faux offense had grown on you, “Oh whatever do you mean, darling? Of course I deserve it, only a fool would deny himself the pleasure of your company.”

Yet behind that pompous smirk was a whirlpool of mixed emotions. Guilt. Gratitude. Shame. Fear. A deep terror of this respite in his cruel life coming back to bite him. You knew it all too well, he would always have trouble accepting that you loved him just for him. To accept that you wanted nothing more than to love and care for him just as much as he cared for you.

“Mhm, says the elf who punishes himself by isolating himself away from me.”

Astarion rolls his eyes, “It’s not so much a punishment as more of…” He tries to find the words to bullshit his way out of this one, “an insurance. I don’t want you getting sick of me already.”

“Rather bold of you to assume I’d ever tire of your presence,” You retorted softly, setting down his leg to rinse in the bath.

He snorts, “And I thought I was a liar,” He teases, and that earns him another splash.

“Come on, let’s get you out of this bath before it gets cold.”

He frowns as you leave the tub, resting his chin in his arms as he rakes in the visage of your soaking wet body. You use the robe initially meant for him for yourself, grabbing another from the garment heater beside the sink.

“Ugh, do we have to?”

You raise a brow, “Do you want to get pruny?”

Astarion grimaces and relents, letting you help him out of the bath. His legs already felt like jelly from being submerged for so long, and the warm, fuzzy robe you put around him doesn’t help the feeling of his knees buckling in.

You wrap a towel around his head and begin drying his hair, smiling as he laughs in surprise.

“I’m not completely useless, darling,” He says, head still bowed down for you to dry. No attempt to stop you was ever made.

“I said I’d pamper you. That includes drying you off too.”

Astarion sighs, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer to him. You laugh, stopping your assault on his hair to look him in the eyes with the towel flopped on his head like a hood. A deep pool of ebony stared back at you, the red of his irises merely a thin ring around his pupils as he gazed at you like you were sent from the heavens itself.

A small smirk curls at his lips, “The gods made you to ruin me,” He kisses your cheek, inhaling your scent as he nuzzles into your neck. It was muted under his own, the one you now both shared thanks to that bath, but he can't help but find that small sliver of you more comforting.

You play with the silver curls between your fingers, petting him softly at the nape of his neck, “You’re rather fond of that line, aren’t you?” You kiss his neck, just a touch away from those puncture scars.

“It’s factual, is it not?”

“Not when you’re standing right here.”

He chuckles, the tips of his ears staining an even deeper red.

“You flatter me.”

Astarion leaves the sanctuary of your scent to look into your eyes once again, kissing you deeply with all the tenderness the both of you could physically muster.

likes having his hair pulled

his day collar is his cravat (its the ruffled neck tie thing)

the type to whimper his partner's name over and over

the type to trace his long fingers over his partner's body, kissing any mole, scar, or mark.

if his partner has tattoos, he would follow the lines as if he were drawing the design himself.

if his partner is smaller, he loves being the big spoon

if his partner is bigger, he loves cuddling into their chest

has a thing for glasses

the kind of guy to litter rose petals on the bed for the honey moon

into light bdsm

soft top route: whispers right in his partner's ear about how good they are, how perfect their taste, their smell, their voice... the type to want to look into your eyes, to make his partner cum over and over before he's even climaxed himself. loves leaving hickeys on his partners--and if he's in a particularly possessive mood, he may plant one somewhere more obvious