Sanguine || Astarion x Reader

Would That I - Part 2

CW: SMUT!

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Sorry for the wait, my lovelies!

Please accept a 10k word fic as an apology.

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It takes about a month before Astarion finds himself becoming a little more frisky around you again.

You're no blushing maiden, you've had your fair share of debauchery during your younger years. But, this man- this incorrigible and insatiable man- was tip toeing on your last nerve.

It was as if he made it his very mission to make you stumble and blush through every interaction you had with him. Whether that be through his depraved words of praise or his light teasing touches. Either way, it drives you insane.

"Astarion!" You scold in a hissed whisper, swatting his hand away from your hip. "If Karlach sees, we'll never hear the end of it, I swear."

The elf tuts in response, a petulant pout on his pale face. "You're no fun."

As much as you try to dissuade him to act somewhat decent in public, it actually exhilarates you to find the lines of friendship and attraction be so blurred.

Sometimes, he'd brush by you just to remind you of his presence when you've found yourself distracted with something or someone else other than him.

He's much like a cat, you note. The selfish kind. The dramatic kind. The kind that demands attention but will never ever ask for it nicely, so it annoys you into noticing it instead.

Indeed, that was Astarion.

"You're delectable, darling." He whispered so closely next to your ear one night, when you've found yourselves in a lazy tavern with your mutual friends.

You can feel his wandering hands trail up your knee, settling themselves on your thigh. "What do you want, Astarion?" You hummed.

Astarion leans in closer, his cheekbone touching yours, his breath wafting against the skin of your jaw. "I want... to take you home."

You gulp.

Against your better judgement, you agree.

It happened so much faster than you anticipated.

You and Astarion are a blur of thrashing limbs as you hastily enter his apartment.

Astarion claws at the back of your top, his hands feeling and tugging everywhere but at the zipper at the back. He busies his lips by taking up yours, only breaking in between to look at his furniture to avoid tripping.

Your trembling hands try to undo the buttons of his top, careful not to pop them off and ruin such an expensive button up.

Astarion impatiently swats your hands away and undoes them himself with impressive speed. He throws his discarded top somewhere on the floor, leaving it for tomorrow's problem.

You bring your hands up to his torso, brushing your fingertips across his sculpted abdomen. Astarion hums pleasantly against your lips in response, as your heated hands wander curiously across his body.

Gods, you were sure he was made just to ruin you. His skin is perfect, smooth like polished marble, and sculpted just like it.

Astarion then detaches himself from your lips, his head dipping into the crook of your neck where he nibbles and nips at the sensitive skin there.