Her Pretty Little Throat : An Ascended Astarion Fan Fiction

Astarion

I lean back against the pillow, and Amara tucks herself against my chest, our clothes forgotten.

Something about this feels more intimate and vulnerable than what we were doing just moments ago. It has taken me decades, centuries, to come to terms with what I have done with my body in order to survive. I have come so far from seeing myself as something to be played with or enjoyed. My only worth in his world was to give pleasure.

Moments like these, where she offers me this affection without wanting anything in return, make me believe I am something more. I can feel her heartbeat so close that it almost feels like my own is awake again, beating in time with hers. That feeling alone is worth more to me than all of Baldur's Gate and all of The Sword Coast.

I reach around and run my fingers through her sex mussed hair, smoothing it and doing my best to tame its wild nature. Each time I lightly rake my nails across her scalp, she lets out a hum of contentment, settling her cheek against my shoulder.

I want to hold her tightly and fuse her to my side in such a way that she can never leave me. It feels so right; the invisible force that guided us together is now settling between us. Her presence settles me like a quiet walk in the forest or bathing under starlight. And her blood. I inhale her scent deeply. It smells familiar, like the cool, fragrant scent of the night.

My little thief spent most of her life in the shadows, hidden under the moonlight, just as I once had. We are so alike in many ways, but still so very different.

I was a fool to think that she was weak and that she couldn't handle my desires. In those final moments of her release, she was a force to be reckoned with, shaking and biting with such force that I quickly followed over the edge, sinking deeper into that pleasure and fully abandoning every thought and sensation that wasn't about her. Being so deep and connected to her, I swear for a moment I thought I felt my own heart beat.

Does she notice the stillness in my chest? What does it feel like for her? Does it bother her that I'm not warm like a mortal and that I do not need the same things she does to survive?

I open my mouth to speak.

"Why do you breathe if you don't need the air?" Amara asks. Her fingertips reach up and begin tracing small winding patterns over my chest.

I laugh, the movement jarring enough that she looks up at me under a creased brow.

"What?" She asks.

"Sometimes it feels like you can read my mind." I run my hand over her shoulder, pulling her back down against me. "Wouldn't that be awful?"

Amara is silent for a moment, then she rubs her cheek against my chest again, and I nearly close my eyes at the gesture.

"I don't know." She says softly, her fingers resuming the small patterns, sweeping a little lower down towards my abdomen. "Sometimes I would like to know what you're thinking."

All you need to do is ask, my love. I think, but I do not wish to speak those words aloud yet. I feel raw. One of the walls around my heart crumbled, leaving me feeling like I might fall at any moment, even though I know she would catch me.

Who am I kidding? I fell the moment I saw her at the top of the stairs. No, I cannot pinpoint the exact moment as much as I can count each star in the sky. It was the culmination of her anger, her passion, and all those smiles she gave me freely without asking for anything in return. The way she challenges me in ways I haven't felt in centuries. In a way, only gods dare.

"I'm not sure you could handle that, my dear." I purr, my hand drifting higher over her shoulder and across her neck. I can feel her pulse fluttering under my fingertips. "One dirty thought, and I fear your knees would buckle."