Her Pretty Little Throat : An Ascended Astarion Fan Fiction

Amara

She is dangerous. To you and herself.

The stranger's words echo through my head even as I feel Astarion rest his forehead against me. The gesture is enough to make my heart squeeze, almost painfully so.

I want nothing more than to take his face in my hands and kiss him again and again. I want to pull him back into the study or find his bedroom and finish what he didn't want to start last night. To see his gorgeous face twisted in pleasure, his eyes dark and wild.

It was there. The way he kissed me and how he prowled over me, but then he just stopped, instead giving into my pleasure. I'm not complaining. I haven't had a partner put me ahead of themselves. Usually it was only a quick fuck, barely enough to scratch an itch, before skirts were righted and pants were buckled.

Could he have sensed the magic inside of me? Is that why he stopped, or had I just been drunk on the bards song and threw myself at him in my own selfish need to drown out whatever lingering pain I felt from my past?

No, because I'm looking at him right now. Having him so close. My fingers itch to touch him, to trace steady paths over his bare chest and down his stomach. His stomach is very defined. He has the face and mannerisms of a noble, but the body of a fighter. All strength and sinewy muscle. The image of him sitting back on his heels, almost in subjugation, causes my core to clench. His idea of punishing me with pleasure sends another thrill through me.

"I want to show you something." Astarion says, his breath feathering against my lips, causing me to draw in a breath.

I can feel his fingertips trailing down from my shoulder, tangling with mine as he walks forward to lead me towards the other wing of the palace.

The halls feel empty and dead. I cannot tell if this is the aftermath of the party or if the palace is always this way so early in the morning. At least I believe it's close to morning. I'm not sure how long I slept.

It feels oddly comforting for it to be just the two of us alone in this place, the world asleep around us. Natural. It is comforting, like we are the last two souls alive. It feels like a dream, or like I am waking from one. A stark contrast from the night before.

Astarion leads me into the ballroom, stopping short of two large doors. I must have missed them last night from the lavish display; most of the food and wine is gone, so it's not stealing away my attention.

"Go on." He says, inclining his head towards the doors.

I look down as he releases my hand, already missing the contact. I glance up at him, then move to the massive wood frame and press my hand to the smooth grain.

Magic hums, and I feel the satisfying click before opening the doors.

Soft light filters into the ballroom, painting it in golden hues.

Astarion grabs my hand again and pulls me out into the pre-dawn light.

I feel shaky knowing that I held the key to my cage all along, something hollow settling deep. He never kept me; it was all my doing. He just never let me know I was free. I never tried to run—not really, I just assumed.

The feeling of his lips on the back of my hand steadies me as I look out over the gardens. The sun is already beginning to break into the sky, bathing the wild green vines in light and making the tiny white star-shaped flowers that grow across the space unbidden look like they're glowing. Past everything is the expanse of Baldur's Gate, spread before us like a sleeping kingdom.

Are vampires supposed to be out in the daylight?

"Astarion." My hand clamps down on his as I begin to tug him backwards towards the open doors. "The sun."