#thiriann

The city of Baldur's Gate was notorious for its assault on the olfactory senses. After months spent travelling through the wilderness with its mostly fresh air, returning to the city left one's nose feeling almost offended. But for Astarion, much as he'd enjoyed their journey, Baldur's Gate was the place he'd spent the majority of his existence, and as much as it pained him to admit it, the smells associated with it reminded him of home. He wasn't easily fazed by the fishy odours of the docks, the nauseating stench of burnt flesh or bodily fluids in the back alley streets, or the waft of the unwashed masses as they passed him by. It barely made an impression on him anymore. Which is precisely why he could tell very easily when something was different.

Walking out of Mystic Carrion's ancient lair, he couldn't help but notice a strange smell that seemed to be following them. As they emerged from the sewers, the scent persisted.

It was floral and spicy, like night-blooming flowers and warm cinnamon, but underpinned by a sharp, almost metallic acidity that cloyed at the back of his throat. It was faint but very noticeable. It kept coming and going, infuriating him to no end, until in frustration he sniffed his own shirt, trying to determine if it was coming from him. 

The fabric smelled only of his perfumed oil and the faint scent of old blood.

"Astarion, what is it?" Thiriann asked, her voice laced with concern at his fidgeting.

Acting on an impulse he didn't fully understand, he pulled her to him. He buried his nose in the curve of her neck, right where her pulse beat a steady, tempting rhythm.

That immediately felt like a mistake, because the wonderful bouquet of her blood beneath her skin kicked his hunger into full gear. He swallowed hard, his throat drier than a desert. 

But as the momentary bloodlust receded, leaving him trembling with the effort of his restraint, the other scent flooded back, clearer and more potent than ever.

It was her. It emanated from her skin.

"You smell different," he muttered against her neck.

"It must be the damn curse still clinging to me," she replied.

"No, it's not a bad smell."

"Oh."

She didn't comment further, unsure if it was a compliment despite his reassurance.

“Ahem. I would advise you to contain such public displays of affection for a private time and location, and not in the middle of the street." Gale huffed behind them.

"Oh, please, it's hardly more than a secluded alley. I would have been in my element here once."

And with that, Astarion moved on from the matter. 

That night, in their rented room at the Elfsong Tavern, the scent became the backdrop to everything. It clung to her, a perfumed cloud that made it impossible to think of anything else. When she undressed for bed, the aroma seemed to intensify, clouding his thoughts.

He wanted to smell it from her neck again, where it mixed with the scent of her blood.

She was making her rounds, talking to everyone about the events of the day. Their camp was, if possible, even more crowded than ever, with everyone's family apparently deciding to move in. He caught her glancing his way once or twice, but just as she'd head toward him, someone would wave her over to complain about their endless woes.

In one big room, most nights felt like he was living in The Circus Of The Last Days. Even the name was fitting. 

He was no stranger to living in dormitories, it didn’t bother him all that much. 

But these days, he and Thiriann didn’t get to talk much the way they used to when they had the privacy of his tent. 

It was strange, missing someone when they were both in the same room, yet he did. 

He could admit it - he wanted her attention, alright?

It wasn’t a good feeling, and it came with the unpleasant thought that he was being needy. 

Perhaps he had been spoiled over the months, having her largely to himself. Irritated by his own vulnerability, he slipped out to hunt earlier than usual. 

Not that there was much he could hunt in the Lower City. Not without attracting the wrong attention and some disapproval from his companions.

On his way back to the Elfsong, his mood was as sour as the wine he’d stolen from Shadowheart, until he passed the polished doors of the room recently vacated by the late Duke Stelmane.

The Watch’s yellow tape was gone. The smell of copper and stale death had been replaced by the sterile scent of beeswax and lemon oil. 

The investigation into the murder of Stelmane had concluded, and with it, it seemed they'd cleaned out the murder scene entirely. But the room had remained empty. Probably no one wanted to rent a chamber where a murder had occurred.

Which gave Astarion an idea.

Later that evening, as the others finally began to settle, Thiriann found herself momentarily unclaimed.

"I thought we could take an evening to ourselves. Get away from camp. Get some privacy." Astarion whispered in her ear, having snuck behind her. Surprisingly, she didn't startle, which showed him she was either getting used to his antics or she'd just been that exhausted from the day.

He said the same line he'd used before their very first night together, but this time there was a lightheartedness to the way he said it, as if inviting her to play with him, reminiscing. She smiled, biting her lip.

"All right. But where would we go?"

He smirked wider, going into full seduction.

"I've secured us some private accommodations," he said, lowering his voice as he leaned into her, his cold breath sending goosebumps down her skin. "Somewhere intimate."

Her eyes widened as she recognised the key. "That's Stelmane's room."

"Formerly Stelmane's room. Now, temporarily, ours."

"I—"

"Thiriann?" Gale's voice echoed from somewhere behind. "We never went over the tome we found in the library."

"Let's go. Let's go now," she whispered to Astarion, practically rushing him out the door.

He let out a delighted giggle, his hand sliding into hers as they slipped away. They were like two naughty children escaping a tutor, running into the hallway just as the door clicked shut behind them.

They didn't stop until they reached Stelmane’s vacated suite. Still breathless and laughing, they barreled through the door. As soon as she turned the key, Astarion was on her.

Kissing her with devouring kisses while he pressed her body to the door with his.Thiriann met his hunger with an equal fervor, her tongue tangling with his as her hands dove straight into his silver curls, pulling him closer as if even this proximity wasn't enough.

He broke away just long enough to let his lips trail a path down the column of her neck. He felt the frantic beat of her pulse against his teeth, the scent he’d been chasing all night finally within reach. But when her hands moved to tilt his head back up, wordlessly demanding his mouth again, he couldn't resist. He dove back in, drinking her in.

His hands were working her top open. He wasn't even sure it was a conscious decision, he just wanted to feel her skin beneath his, her direct warmth. The leather ties were gone in a second before he grabbed two handfuls of her petite breasts. He rolled them in his hands, enjoying their weight as he squeezed. It might have been his imagination, but they felt different, somewhat fuller and heavier than usual.

His fingers grazed over her nipples, and she moaned openly in his mouth.

There was so little finesse in his movements, so little artistry, and he couldn't care less. He found himself much more focused on the little game they were currently playing with their mouths. She'd bite his lip, her tongue invading his mouth before retreating, inviting him to bite her in turn and invade her. She sucked lightly on the tip of his tongue, and he groaned, pinning her hips with his against the door.

Her leg wrapped around his, and he decided he'd had enough. His hands left her breasts in favour of going to her rear and lifting.

She didn't even react as he picked her off the ground and carried her to the bed before tossing her gently on it. She just giggled, staring up at him. Her flush spread from her cheeks down her delicious neck all the way to the tops of her breasts.

He was still getting used to actually feeling desire for sex. It was something he hadn't felt in all of his centuries of enslavement, not even once. And regrettably, even with Thiriann in the beginning, sex had just been something he did. On instinct, without thought or feeling. Or he tried to tell himself it was without feeling until it wasn't. And things had gotten so very confusing until she had told him they could be together without the act, and in that moment, the world had shifted on its axis. 

A weight he didn't even know he'd been carrying felt lifted.

At first, he hadn't dared to believe it. He’d lived in wait for the other shoe to drop, braced for the inevitable rejection. 

Despair wasn't a stranger. In fact, that empty feeling had become as familiar as an old friend.

He had spent two hundred years cleaving his humanity from his body, and now, here she was, pouring life back into him, filling him up with things that he didn't think he was capable of feeling anymore.

Where he'd performed before, now he could actually participate. Actually experience what it was supposed to feel like. The enjoyment of the act, the sweep of one into passion, of fully losing yourself in your partner, without fear, without guilt, without anyone else in the world mattering. Just the two of them.

When her pants came off, he had to pause, his breath catching in his throat. She was drenched, her smallclothes soaked through with a dark patch of arousal that had left a glistening trail on her inner thighs.

The poor thing was more desperate for him than she let on. But he, being a gentleman first and foremost, would provide relief. Swiftly.

He knelt before her, hooking his fingers in the waistband of the soaked cotton, and he drew them down her legs, watching the fabric cling to her skin before releasing.

The scent that bloomed in the air was dizzying. A direct, unfiltered concentration of that flowery, cinnamon sweetness, now stripped of any acidity. Simply pure, intoxicating arousal.

He lowered himself down and knelt on the floor between her legs. He promised himself in that moment that from now on, she’d be the only person he’d ever kneel for. 

The sight of her, top open, with her perky tits fully exposed, naked and splayed open for him, was almost too much to bear, and he felt his composure quickly slipping away.

He couldn't help himself. He leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, cleaning the evidence of her desire.

"Gods," he breathed against her skin, the vibration of his voice making her quiver.  "You taste so sweet."

Sweeter than usual, even. He had always been obsessed with her flavour. His mouth was his preferred method of exploration, and she was simply delectable, every bit of her. She was a perfect, heady contradiction: metallic and sharp like her blood, yet softened by a floral sweetness that was uniquely her. 

His mouth moved to her core, and he gently sucked on one of her glistening folds. He dragged his tongue up to circle her clit, then back down to her entrance, dipping just the very tip inside, tasting her essence directly.

The scent of her filled his lungs, making his head swim. He felt his pants getting tighter as his cock filled out, impatient to be inside her already.

He lowered a hand, fingers fumbling slightly as he undid the fastenings of his trousers.  The relief was instant as the unforgiving leather loosened. He palmed himself through the thin fabric of his underwear, feeling the pleasure gather in his belly.

It was still embarrassing to touch himself, even more so while he was eating her out. It felt so…base and primal. 

But he liked exploring this part of himself. With her, it didn’t feel humiliating. Or shameful. To be enjoying himself like this.

He returned to her clit, circling it with precision. She gasped at the contact, her hips bucking instinctively off the mattress, and he used one hand to hold her steady.  With his other hand, he sought hers out, lacing their fingers together against the sheets. He had learned this about her—she craved connection, the reassurance of his touch. And he, to his own endless surprise, loved giving it.

As she petted his silver curls with her free hand, he found himself leaning into the gesture, melting beneath her palm. A low hum of contentment vibrated in his chest, a sound so soft it was almost a purr.

His tongue continued its expert work, swirling and teasing, winding her tension tighter and tighter until she was a trembling mess beneath him. 

When her pleas finally became broken and whiny,he broke away and slid up her body, covering her with his own. 

He could have made her come and been nice about it, but tonight he wanted to be just a bit selfish.

He wanted to feel her writhe and gasp against him, needing him, near desperate for him.

He lowered his mouth to one breast, laving the nipple with his tongue until it was a pebbled nub before drawing it into his mouth. 

Her back arched off the bed, a loud moan torn from her throat. She seemed conflicted between pushing her breast more firmly into his mouth, or seeking friction while her hips wriggled.

"A-Astarion!" she gasped, her voice cracking. "Please!"

Gods, he loved making her whine. 

In his long, checkered history, having this effect on a lover was hardly a novelty.  But where it usually induced only annoyance, apathy, and disgust, with her, it sparked an almost instinctive need to reach out. To soothe her.

He stood, pulling away from her with difficulty, before taking off his underwear and pants in one go and climbing onto the bed. He moved fully over her, the cool weight of his body a perfect contrast to her feverish heat. One hand came up to cradle her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw tenderly, while his other hand returned possessively to her breast. 

“Hush, my love. I’ve got you.”

Her arms locked around him instantly, pulling their chests together as their lips met feverishly. His erection slid against her wet folds, and Astarion let out a ragged moan into her mouth.

"Easy, darling," he whispered, smiling against her lips when she rolled her hips, seeking him again. "I won't tease you anymore, I promise."

He grasped the base of his cock, finally lining up at her entrance. He shifted his hips, the tip of him catching at her opening before he pushed in.

Her body welcomed him perfectly, accepting his length as he sheathed himself fully in one smooth stroke. Astarion broke their kiss, to hiss in a breath through his teeth. 

"Hells," he rasped, his voice thick and strained. "You're so hot." 

He began a slow, gentle rhythm, each movement pulling a gentle grunt from her lips.

Astarion's head swam, heat licking up his spine and threatening to undo him before they even started.

She used the opportunity to attack his neck, peppering it with kisses. When her mouth found the sensitive spot just below his ear and sucked a mark into his skin, Astarion’s hips stuttered, jolting into her at the sensation. 

It felt so good, it was dizzying. Her scent and warmth surrounded him, enhancing the erotic mix of their coupling. That mysterious, flowery spice was so potent now that it made his throat burn with a phantom thirst and his fangs ache in his gums.

"Darling, can I…?" he whispered. It sounded like begging even to his own ears, but he was beyond caring. He was losing himself in the pleasure, the hunger, and the overwhelming, terrifying sweetness of her.

She moved her head to the side instantly, offering her neck to him.

His fangs sank in before a conscious thought could form.

Her blood hit his tongue like a sunburst—warm, vibrant, and impossibly euphoric. A wave of profound, soul-deep relief washed over him as that raw life filled his mouth.

She had no idea how intoxicating it was to feel that lifeblood surging through his cold veins.

Like all the parts of him that had been scooped out and thrown away didn't matter, and he was whole again. Like nothing, nobody, could ever hurt him.He wondered, with a hazy flick of envy, if she felt like this all the time. So effortlessly alive.

He moaned against her neck. 

The feeding felt more fulfilling than it ever had before, possessing a depth and richness like fruit plucked at the perfect moment of ripeness.

It was then, with his face buried in the intoxicating scent of her neck, his hands on her swollen breasts, the taste of her on his tongue, that the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place with the force of a lightning bolt.

She was fertile.

A wave of unexpected arousal surged through him, heating him from the inside, making his hips stutter. He gasped, shocked at his own reaction, and released her neck.

Her delicious lifeblood began to stream down, painting her collarbone and the pillow below. The waste of it snapped him back to his senses. He dived down instantly, his tongue dragging over her skin to lap up every stray drop.

He was frantic, refusing to let a single bead of that precious, heavy sweetness go to waste.

Logically, her fertility shouldn't have mattered.

It couldn’t matter.

But a small part of him whispered in the back of his mind that if he were to spill his seed in her now, she could take with child. 

And it made his whole body feel alight, as if his very blood had set on fire.

He'd bitten her plenty, his fangs had left a permanent decoration on her neck. One he felt a pang of pride looking at every time. At first he didn't care where he bit. He'd just been happy to feed. But as his feelings for her had deepened, a new side of him had awakened. A side that wanted to show the world exactly what she permitted him to do and how enthusiastically she permitted it. To show anyone who looked upon her and him that they were connected.

But this, this was him leaving his mark so deeply within her that her very essence would change. She would be undeniably, irrevocably his,for anyone to see. Something primal and territorial within him stirred in satisfaction at the thought.

He found himself wondering, with a sudden ache in his chest, what she would look like round with his baby. She was already a vision, but the thought of her glowing with the life he had placed inside her... she would be radiant. There was something ironic in the fact he didn’t live but could create life still. 

He shouldn't like the idea as much as he did. The concept of progeny, of legacy, had died with him two centuries ago. It was for the living.

Maybe it was the danger. The risk of doing something so profoundly naughty that it would equate to spitting in the eye of nature itself.

Or maybe, a quieter, more vulnerable part of him whispered, it was the fact that she craved him so viscerally. That her body, at its most primal, most fertile peak, would accept his seed so willingly.

He still felt stupidly giddy when she said “us”. He'd never had an 'us' before. Never had anyone care about him. It'd always been things of fairytales and romantic drivel found in cheap novels. Stories he had mocked because he knew they were never meant for him.

Yet here he was, defying every impossible odd. He wanted this. He wanted the quiet domesticity, the shared glances, and the terrifying permanence of her. He wanted her forever.

"If I come in you now, darling," he breathed, "you'll fall pregnant with my child."

She looked at him, adorably confused. Slowly, he watched the gears turn, her eyes widening as the weight of his words finally registered.

"Oh," she said quietly. The reaction wasn't what he expected. She wasn't scandalized, nor was she afraid. She sounded intrigued, almost hopeful.

That small, soft sound was his undoing.

He grasped one of her legs under the knee, lifting it until it came to rest over his shoulder. He did the same with the other, bending her nearly in half, opening her to him completely.

Thiriann let out a half-gasp, half-moan as he drove forward, burying himself to the hilt.

"Like this, darling," he whispered, his voice sounding husky and raw, stripped of its usual melodic poise. He pressed his palm flat against the soft curve of her lower belly, his fingers splaying wide over her skin. "When I come, I’ll fill your womb. Right here. Is that what you want?"

"Yes," she whispered against his lips. Like a confession she couldn't say out loud, and that made it all the more erotic.

One of the first things Astarion had mastered in his long, weary years of playing the rake was how to flirt with his eyes. He could capture the attention of someone with just a glance, and on some occasions no words beyond that were needed before they followed him home. He had done that a lot during their adventure as well, in the early days when he was trying his hardest to get on Thiriann's good graces and into her bed.

But now it felt like any messages sent with a look that he thought were impressive seemed to only touch the surface. The tired old cliché about losing oneself in someone’s eyes had finally, irritatingly, started to make sense.

He felt as though he could stare into hers for an eternity. In that soft gaze that made him feel as if she was looking at the most wonderful thing she'd ever seen. In this silence, he could hear her thoughts more clearly than through any psychic tether the tadpole provided. They were having an entire conversation without a single breath spent. 

He watched her eyes track across his face: focusing on his, flickering up to his eyebrows, and then crinkling with affection when they reached the unruly silver curl on his forehead. Her gaze drifted to his lips, her pupils dilating into dark, bottomless pools before she looked back up to meet his eyes once more.

He thrust again, deeper than before,and this time he felt it—a distinct, soft resistance against the very tip of his cock.

She gasped, more of a gulp of breath, as if something had punched hers out of her.

Astarion stilled instantly. Worry piercing straight through the haze of his lust. "Darling? Did I hurt you?"

But there was no pain in her expression. She let out an unhappy, frustrated whine, her hands clawing at his shoulders, her hips bucking. Or as much as they could buck in this position. 

"D-don't stop! Please!"

Her voice broke into a pleasured sob, and it shattered the last of his self-control.

His cock throbbed, impatient, eager to plant his essence as deep inside her as was physically possible. He resumed his pace, spurred on by her desperation.

For a moment the sheer intensity stunned him.The slow, wet drag of her against him sent an electric shock through his entire frame, vibrating in his very bones.

Each time he surged forward, the head of his cock brushed her cervix, and her breath hitched, punched out from her lungs. It was so close to pain, just on the verge of it, but not enough to make her want to stop. Instead, a blinding, white-hot pleasure overrode every other feeling.

"You're—" she whined, sounding like she was complaining even though she definitely wasn't, "…so deep."

Astarion let out a low, growl against her ear, his rhythm unwavering. He wanted her to feel every bit of him. He wanted to be the only thing in her world, filling every void until there was no room left for anything but the two of them.

She felt her insides jump when he jammed into her. It was overwhelming, too much, but as soon as he withdrew, she wanted to feel it again. Over and over, the sensation was more addictive than any vice she'd ever tried.

His thrusts were slow, relentless, and seemingly never-ending.

Each one obliterating whatever thought remained in her head.

"Fuck me," she panted. "Fuck me hard."

Thiriann had never spoken like that before, so filthy and unrestrained. The raw need in her voice undid him completely.

With each hard thrust, wetness gushed out of her, coating his length, his balls, even his thighs. 

He didn't even care. Where once something would have elicited disgust in him, now he only felt a prideful satisfaction. It's funny how one thing can feel so different with the right person. He wanted her wet for him. He wanted her to soak her underwear every time she thought of this night. He wanted to ruin her for anyone else, to make her feel pleasure she never had before.

So he gave it to her. He let go of the last remains of his restraint and began to fuck her in earnest. Each thrust rammed into her like lightning spiralling from her belly all throughout her body. She couldn't even form words anymore, not even his name; every breath came out as a loud moan. 

She was so close, wracked by the pleasure-pain in her core. She felt it, her mind blanking out with every world-shattering motion as her body screamed for his release.

He felt her inner muscles flutter wildly around him, her climax imminent.

She was fertile. And he was claiming her. He wanted to come inside, to fill her up, until she couldn't contain another drop of him. 

She screamed. It was not a moan or a gasp, but a full-throated cry at the overwhelming intensity.

She was getting off on this as much as he was.

"You like that?" he groaned, inane nonsense,  half of them lost to a flurry of his mother tongue and Common, and he felt wretched and powerful and like a man who finally owned something. "You like it when I split you open?"

And she was so good, wet and desperate and begging for it, that it was so easy to forget the tadpoles, the tavern, and the battle waiting outside those polished doors or anything that might happen after.

He felt her orgasm begin in a powerful, constricting wave that pulled him under with her. He was going to come apart. He could feel it building, coiling tight at the base of his spine.

"Fuck!" he shouted, his voice raw and guttural as his release erupted. He poured into her, a hot, endless flood, his cock throbbing violently as he emptied inside her.

She cried out, her body convulsing around him, milking him for every drop. She could feel it, his cum filling her belly. Like liquid led, it felt heavy. Searing. 

Astarion’s arms shook with the effort of holding himself above her. Even in the throes of his own convulsions, he was determined not to crush her. He tucked his face into the crook of her neck, panting against her collarbone as the waves of the climax swept over him, leaving his bones humming with the aftershocks.

They collapsed together, a tangled, panting mess. He pressed his forehead to hers,  his body utterly spent.

He relaxed his weight onto her, and only then did she seem to feel the strain of her position, a soft wince crossing her features.

He rolled off her, eyes glued to the ceiling as the situation dawned on him, along with a spike of embarrassment.

“Do you think the others heard?” she asked.

Astarion snorted.

“Darling, I'd be surprised if the whole Lower City didn’t hear you.”

She chuckled, somewhat embarrassed.

"Yeah, I guess."

“That was rather…"

"Intense?" she offered.

"I don't know what came over me," he admitted, his mind reeling.

Still, he'd lost control in a way he never had before. He hadn’t even known he even possessed such desires. Usually, the mere thought of children was enough to make him shudder. Yet in the moment, he had liked it. He had liked it far too much.

And the idea of something that would be half of her and half of him was, well, it wasn't terrible. Maybe for the first time he could think about that. Could think that far ahead in his future. Could have the freedom to have that if he wanted to one day.

But then, the anxiety returned.

He knew that while the chance of her conceiving was small, it was not nonexistent. He had only just found a semblance of freedom. They still had parasites in their heads. The world was still ending. It was all too much, too fast—

He looked at her, searching her face for panic. Instead, she turned on her side to face him, smiling softly, perfectly at ease. At the sight of her calm, his own anxiety eased marginally.

"Astarion," she said gently, "I'm not going to get pregnant."

Something in his face must have given him away. He grimaced, incredulous. 

"How can you possibly be so sure?"

She shrugged, seemingly unaffected by the gravity that was currently crushing him.  "Because it's not that easy. Not even for mortal couples."

She reached out, brushing a silver curl from his eye.

"But if it will make you feel better, I can brew a tea."

He nodded, less about the tea and more about just feeling the ground under himself again.

Gods, it was terrifying. The idea that something new could come from something like him.

She looked like she was about to say something, no doubt put her bleeding heart into reassuring him he was not broken or he was enough, but he couldn't hear it yet. Not while his emotions were spinning through the dark still. He cut her off, voicing his thoughts as they clawed to the surface.

"Darling, I don't even know if it's possible for me. And even if it is… I don't know if I’d ever want that."

He wasn't sure if it was too early or too late for this conversation. He had no experience, no roadmap into relationships that would guide him, but he was fairly certain couples talked about these things.

She listened, nodding in understanding. 

"I feel the same, Astarion."

He briefly considered that she might never cease to surprise him.

"We don't have to decide everything right away," she said, reaching for his hand. "And whatever comes… we can figure it out together."

He reached out with his own, gently grasping hers in his.