Astarion x M!Reader

Twenty-Six

"I've never wielded a weapon before.", he admitted as you handed him a bow, short and made for distances that weren't all that far.

Even though the arrow wouldn't be able to reach far distances, the force would be stronger and it could shatter bones at impact.

You had figured that Cazador was a powerful vampire, about as powerful as you. Or more so, even if you hated to admit it.

You hadn't followed him for a long time, perhaps his powers had grown while you had drowned in your own sorrow.

Even if there were many things uncertain one thing was for sure. You couldn't afford to strike Cazador down when he was at his highest.

He needed to be weakened. And you wouldn't be able to get close enough to do so. He wouldn't let you.

Smiling softly, you stepped closer to Astarion, shoved two hands under his elbows and pushed them up.

"Stretch your back.", you whispered into his ear.

Immediately he was as stiff as a board. His back was as straight as it was naturally possible. It pressed into your chest.

And something else.

You ignored the warm gush that chased through your veins, pushed it into the back of your head. Something tugged at the back of your head.

It was a feeling that you hadn't felt in a long time.

Desire.

Your body reacted to him, to his scent, the feeling of his body against yours and the warmth that seeped into your undead flesh.

How was he able to remain warm?

Over time spawns lost their mortal features and turned into lesser vampires. Sometimes they kept certain things, such as faint colours of their eyes or the ability to feel temperature.

But he seemed so mortal. So alive.

It almost made you jealous. But what it most certainly did make you was uneasy. You felt embarrassed by those primal instincts.

Astarion shifted in front of you. As he did so his bottom brushed your crotch. It flinched.

Primal indeed, you thought with a bitter smile on your face and bit your tongue.

Your eyes wandered down to check on him, but your attention was caught by pointy ears that peaked out from between the waves of his hair. Their lines guided you further down to the curve of his neck. It was so pale, almost shiny. He had such pure skin.

Again you found your mind faltering. Your lips twitched and the tip of your tongue licked over your pointed teeth. Thirst scratched at your throat.

With a roll of your eyes you pushed back the desire to bury your teeth in him and have a taste, took a deep breath and raised your chin.

"You must feel the tension that may on the bowstring.", you said and pushed his legs a little apart to correct his stance. "If it's too lax the bow won't fly right. But if it's too much the string will snap and hit back at you."

Worried, he frowned and leaned further into the safety of your embrace. The beating of your heart pushed into his back.

He didn't seem to mind, the blades of his shoulders pulled and muscles tensed as he put an arrow on the bow and tried to aim.

His grip was still shaky. Fingers cramped.

"Dammit!", he hissed with a hoarse breath as the bowstring slipped off his fingers.

The arrow didn't make it far. It got stuck in the ground, dirt and dust twirled up.

"Hm.", your hands left his arms, traveled down to hold him by his sides.

He shifted, but his body did not stiffen nor did he show any signs that this gesture made him feel any discomfort.

Disappointed appeared on his face as he raised his chin to look up and meet your eyes.

"Forgive me.", Astarion said and sighed.

It was a sweet sound, made your ears twitch and tugged at the corners of your mouth. Now that the cat had stopped to hiss it was almost cuddly.

"No, I must apologise.", you said as he lowered the bow. "I didn't think ahead."

His breath was already uneven, his arms trembled from the strain. Archery was a fine way of fighting that needed loads of upper strength. And he didn't have that.

Not yet.

There was almost no meat on him, let alone muscle mass. He needed more protein to get to a healthy weight before you could train his body to lead a bow.

Your gaze wandered down to his fingers. They were long and gender, perfect to have a good grip on the bowstring. Or to pickpocket.

All of a sudden a thought crossed your mind. It wasn't an honourable one but this wasn't about prim and proper people. It was about Astarion's chances of survival.

"Wait here.", you said and left his side for a second.

Shadows curled as you snapped your fingers. Orders were whispered. For a brief moment the night was dead silent. Then the shadows returned.

In their long, dark fingers they held a collection of small daggers. With a smile you did a gesture.

"Choose one.", you told him.

The shadows presented him each weapon.

Confusing was written all over his face. He frowned, looked at you and then at the shadows before his finger rose to point at the wall of dark that grew from your naked feet.

"How..?", Astarion's pulled a face.

You chuckled, did a gesture. The shadows bowed to your silent command and crept closer.

Sucking in a sharp breath he jumped back and pulled the bowstring back. But his fingers flinched, too weak to keep up the tension.

The string twisted and turned and all of a sudden it snapped with an unpleasant sound. The two loose ends chased through the air.

Struck, Astarion squeezed his eyes shut, one hand pressed to his face. The bow fell to his feet, broken in half.

With a hiss you chased the shadows away.

"Forgive me.", you reached for his hand. "Sometimes they have a mind of their own."

He flinched as the cold air caressed the wound that the bowstring had cut across his eye. Displeased, he had his eyebrows knitted together.

"My.", you huffed gently and breathed a kiss to the eye. "Don't frown, my darling. There. All gone."

And indeed. As you pulled back his face was as perfect as ever. Not a hint of the wound.