they say the best way to combat a writing rut is with some smut (i'm they.) so, I present to you some after-hours library shenanigans. the only context you need is that it starts off as a bit of possessive/jealous roleplay (hence the dialogue is a bit more over-the-top than usual) but then oh no it strikes a very real chord with Astarion 👀
“Say that again,” he pleads, parted lips mere inches from hers.
Eve lets the words rush out, eager to give him exactly what he wants:
“I’m yours, Astarion. My body is yours. My pleasure is yours… My heart is yours. All yours.”
Astarion’s put-on rigidness melts, the facade cracks, exposing the softest parts beneath. And in that moment a part of her wonders if for him—a man who spent a decade with nothing to call truly his—her words might have hit deeper than she intended.
But before she can ask, before she can put their little spectacle on hold to make sure she did not cross a line one can’t return from, he kisses her. It’s both hungry and generous, the kind of kiss that feels like he is baring his soul before her—asking her to see all of him, to know him. To love him.
His hands let go of her wrists, clutching at her waist instead as he flips their bodies, his back crashing into the shelf, sending a book or two clattering to the floor (a problem for later, as Eve can no longer bring herself to care.)
With their newfound freedom, her hands roam around his body before settling on the sides of his neck, fingertips trailing up to tease at his ears as Astarion moans into her mouth. Encouraged by the reaction, she allows her lips to wander, and whisper right into his ear:
“I want you, Astarion. No one else. I only ever want to be yours.”
She punctuates her confession by running her tongue along the edge of his earlobe, forcing a strangled sound from the depths of his chest, sending his hips bucking into her, the friction deepening the delirious haze that has settled over her mind.
And when she speaks again, there is no trace of performance left, no need to play it up. It’s raw and unfiltered and messy at times, though all the more genuine:
“I can’t get enough of you. I love you, so much, and I love making you feel good. I love when you let go around me. When you let me love you. Let me spoil you. When you let me show you how much I want you–”
She would have kept going were it not for Astarion’s hand on her chin, making her pause. He tilts her head towards him, his eyes all but glowing with desire, voice low and breathless when he says:
“Then show me.”
Before she can ask, another plea follows:
“Show me how much you want me.”
Eve considers his words for a split second before falling to her knees.
