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They’ve set up camp for the evening when Yanis finds himself by the riverside, trying to wash off the grime from the past days of trekking in the muck. The sun is still up, leaving the water glinting oranges and yellows, rippling under the movement of his hands. It’s cool, almost soothing on his overheated skin, having gone red in some places due to the permissive heat.
Yanis catches glimpses of himself in the rushing water, flashes of pale skin and dark hair. It makes him scowl, resisting the childish urge to slam his hand against the water so the image dissipates into violent ripples. He scoffs at himself, rubbing between his fingers and over his hands to get rid of the dirt. He’s not typically bothered by the discomfort of traveling so much, and the smell of sweat and blood has become a companion in and of itself.
But that doesn’t mean Yanis is opposed to a dip in the water when he can get it. It’s an easy way to feel refreshed after a long day, ending the night with a positive note, he supposes. If only he would just stop catching damn glimpses of himself in the water. It makes him feel irritated, discomfort building in his chest at something that should be innocuous.
It’s just his reflection. Just him.
Water spills down over his bare chest, his eyes following the patter of the droplets hitting the surface of the river, his reflection still swimming in front of him. He doesn’t look away for several moments, his mood souring with every passing second, fingers prodding at his skin unhappily. His fingers trace the jagged scars beneath his pecs, the flesh nearly ruined from the clumsy hands of a desperate boy.
“Admiring yourself, darling?” Astarion’s voice breaks him from his thoughts, as it so often does, lilting like the glitter of silver, honey-glazed words. You’d think his mouth was full of candy with every sweet word he spins.
Yanis looks over his shoulder to find him, standing at the edge of the bank, his ruffled shirt permanently parted to expose a line of his pale chest.
“Can’t say I’m not, either, you know. There’s a lot worth looking at.” He continues appreciatively, crimson eyes glinting in the sun, gaze unabashedly tracing over Yanis’s form. He’s used to Astarion’s flirting by this point, even finds himself enjoying it oftentimes—but now he can’t help but shy away, feeling far too exposed under those searching eyes.
Yanis turns away from him, shoulders bunching up in discontent, sparing one more glance towards the water before he’s wading out.
“I’m about done, now.” He mutters, his tone shorter than usual. He tugs his cleanest shirt on, the fabric still just slightly damp from a recent wash. Concealing his body doesn’t do much to free that tight pit that wriggles low in his gut, uncomfortable and persistent.
“Don’t stop on my account.” Astarion chuckles, but there’s something just slightly off about his tone. His voice caught lower in his throat, almost terse.
When Yanis looks up at him, he’s slipping out of his clothes, inches upon inches of pale skin being revealed in the dying evening light.
He looks away quickly out of instinct and winces when Astarion barks out an amused laugh.
“Nothing you haven’t seen before, love.” The water sloshes gently as Astarion enters it, his fingers delicately swiping over the surface, sending it rippling out around him. Yanis watches the flex of his spine and shoulders as he cleans his arms, pale skin bathed in a soft orange, water droplets catching in his fair curls.
Astarion’s fingertips brush past the scars on his back with a soft noise, hand resting on his hip before smoothing back up his side. The movement is nearly hypnotizing, lines of easy beauty and confidence, a sight Yanis doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of.
It makes that anxious pit in his gut twist.
“Enjoying the view, darling?” Astarion drawls, catching Yanis’s gaze, glittering ruby eyes shining with mischief. “How do I look?”
“You know that you’re pretty.” Yanis scoffs, though there’s a hesitant smile that tugs at his lips. He sits at the edge of the bank, legs crossed in front of him, folding Astarion’s clothes for him just to have something to do with his hands.
“Oh, I do, but I still love to hear it.” He throws his arms out, facing Yanis now, as if he were inviting him to look. He wades through the water with purposeful grace, every bit of a performance of seduction. And he succeeds at it as easily as breathing, dripping wet as he’s close enough to touch Yanis now, nearly crawling into his lap.
“Especially when it’s coming from you.” He purrs, sharp teeth glinting, every sinuous muscle in his body like the slinking of a large predator, a cat that’s caught its prey. “Would you like to do a little more than just watch, dear?”
Astarion’s mouth hovers close to his, perfect pale skin smooth and soft as their cheeks brush. He smells vaguely of something sweet, a fancy perfume or another that Astarion must have picked up last time they met with a merchant. His nose slides against Yanis’s own, his slow breaths cool as their mouths just barely touch.
Wet fingers skim over the hem of Yanis’s shirt—tentative and asking for permission, ruby red eyes looking up at him through a dark fan of thick lashes.
He’s gorgeous, just as he was the first day they had met.
Yanis feels vaguely sick.
He pulls away from him, a violent tug rattling in his chest that makes it hard to breathe.
“Maybe—maybe not right now.” He clears his throat, catching the confusion that passes over Astarion’s face at the rejection from out of the corner of his eye. It’s covered up quickly with a wave of his hand, lips ticking up into an easy smirk—a fake one. If Yanis has learned a single thing about Astarion in the last few weeks, it’s that he will put on a show when he’s uncomfortable.
He laughs lightly, “You can’t win them all, can you?” Ruby eyes, bright and intelligent, flicker over Yanis’s face, fruitlessly searching for something.
“Well, if you’re quite sure, darling. No matter, I’m always a few steps away if you ever change your mind.” Astarion can’t hide the way that he’s put off by Yanis’s reaction, fingers plucking his clothes up and tugging them on. Like he was donning armor rather than leather and cloth, a slight pout to his full lips.
Yanis has never turned Astarion down before, not since—whatever this is has bloomed between them. Neither of them have talked about it much, never put much time into coming up with some kind of succinct label. But sex was fun with him, freeing, almost. Astarion never seemed to care what he looked like, didn’t care what he did or didn't have. Like he couldn’t care less.
(Yet Yanis can’t imagine that it was true.)
And Yanis liked what they were doing, usually, from the touches to the easy flirtations—the comforting companionship of spending a night with another body rather than all alone.
But right now—Yanis can’t even handle the thought of Astarion seeing him bare, of having to see himself. If he could hide in his thin cotton shirt, he thinks that he would.
Yanis rises to his feet after Astarion, resisting the urge to fidget like a child, something tangled and wracked with nerves writhing in his gut. Astarion’s face is carefully blank, his perfect, pale fingers blindly fussing with his unruly curls.
Perfect, always so perfect—it makes Yanis want to keep his hands away from him, lest he ruin it. Like gazing at an old painting, worn with time but preserved in its beauty, each stroke purposeful and elegant. So wholly untouchable.
Yanis wants to kiss him, wants to reach out and touch, wants to explain himself, maybe—
His hands slip behind his back, kept far away from that pale skin, and he lets Astarion walk away with nothing more than a stilted goodbye.
_______
Yanis leaves a small bottle of his own blood by Astarion’s tent before the night is over with. He often leaves him and the others gifts, even if Astarion’s treat of choice often leaves him with a few bandages or a visit to Shadowheart for a bout of healing.
But Yanis can’t let Astarion get close enough to feed on him directly—not when he’s feeling like this. It makes his skin itch, a vibrant ache of heat in his chest at the thought of their bodies touching, of having Astarion so close to him when he can’t help but think he wouldn’t deserve those affections.
A ball of insecurity sits right in the middle of his sternum, murmuring in the back of his head, letting him know just how unworthy he is each time Astarion’s crimson gaze graces him.
He’s not enough, not made right, and still so achingly different from what he craves to be.
Yanis doesn’t try to ignore the vampire in the coming days, not exactly, but he skirts away from casual touches. He shies from kisses he wouldn’t have before, denies Astarion’s wandering hands and searching eyes, and desperately tries to avoid any reminders of his own body.
Even if he wants it, finds himself craving it, the easy conversations and what so closely borders on real intimacy—he denies himself.
He feels like a young boy again, unsure and fumbling, grappling with his own self.
He doesn’t want to burden Astarion with it. Doesn’t want to burden any of them with his own problems. They have more to worry about, greater things to protect themselves from.
He’ll deal with it on his own, as he’s used to doing.
He forgets, sometimes, that only recently has he had companions. Pushed together by circumstance, needing each other lest they be left fumbling around like fools in the dark—but companions nonetheless.
Yanis can’t allow himself to become a burden to them, and especially not to Astarion, who is flighty and precarious at the best of times.
So Yanis keeps it all to himself, and hopes that everything will go away on its own.
(That plan goes about as well as one could expect.)
_______
They’re staying at an inn instead of a campsite, for once.
Astarion had voiced his immeasurable approval at the change, enjoying the chance to rest under a roof and in a warm bed, even if he didn’t require much sleep.
Him and Yanis are sharing a room, partially to save gold and partially because Yanis feels a gnawing guilt in his gut, leaving Astarion out to dry as he has. He wants to be close, wants to find himself getting lost in Astarion’s presence, but—
“I’m going to go wash up, darling.” Astarion announces, his voice carefully light but carrying something tense. He passes by Yanis without much of a glance. His eyes follow the slight swish of Astarion’s hips all the way up the washroom doors, where he promptly disappears, the lock on the door never sounding.
Typically, Yanis would take it up on the invitation that it is, but now—he stays rooted to the bed.
He sighs to the empty room, running a hand through his damp hair. He’s clean, at least, though it does little to improve his mood. He tongues over the scar that bisects the right side of his mouth, his eyes flickering up to catch sight of his face in the full length mirror in the corner of the room.
His shirt falls open from where he’s leaned forward, exposing glimpses of pale, scarred skin.
He can’t help but wonder what Astarion must see, when he looks at him.
Astarion could have anyone he wanted, anyone at all, and Yanis is who he shares his bed with. Who he’s chosen to open up to, who he finds after a tough battle, or when he’s hungry and when he’s looking for company. It’s Yanis, again and again, when surely Astarion could find better.
Someone that wasn’t Yanis.
He stands up, his eyes meeting his own gaze in the mirror, frowning at his reflection. He should turn away, should find something to distract himself, he knows. But he can’t seem to stop looking, can’t seem to look at himself and find all the things he would change. All the things that make him feel different.
Time slips away from him quickly, gazing at himself, anxious and unhappy and picking himself apart.
He doesn’t notice the door to the washroom clicking open and closed, doesn’t notice that Astarion is even behind him until his chin brushes against his shoulder, gazing at Yanis’s reflection with him. He nearly startles, trying to catch sight of the vampire’s face without turning around. Mostly, he just gets a face full of fair-headed curls.
Yanis turns back to the mirror. Astarion isn’t visible in the glass, but Yanis can easily smell him when he’s this close—something flowery and self-indulgent, perfumes and soaps that Astarion hoards like fine gems. Yanis has noticed his love for baths, for the refined things that he can manage to get his hands on. Astarion hardly protests to a few blood splatters painting his face, but he enjoys the act of cleanliness, Yanis has found.
His skin holds wisps of heat from the warmth of the water, his wet curls just barely brushing against Yanis’s jaw. He can feel him pressed against his back, his chin nearly resting on Yanis’s shoulder.
“What are you looking so dour for, my dear?” He murmurs, pressed close to Yanis’s back, a hand dancing around his hip—like he wants to touch but finds himself unsure.
Yanis turns in his hold, back facing towards the mirror, Astarion’s ruby eyes gazing up at him. There’s a nervous twitch to his expression, a strange sort of tightness to his mouth. He looks nearly—concerned.
Yanis swallows thickly, his mouth feeling suddenly dry.
“You’ve seemed off recently, you know.” Astarion murmurs, shifting on his feet like he was supremely uncomfortable, but found this important enough for him to push through it, “I’m starting to wonder if I’ve done something wrong.”
“No.” Yanis blurts out immediately, and Astarion raises a refined brow in surprise, tilting his head to the side. Yanis takes a deep breath, “I—I mean. You didn't do anything.”
Astarion hums when Yanis explains no further, “Then what’s the matter? I do pay attention to your moods, you know.” He says it like he means for it to be light, but there’s still sincerity in his eyes, flickering over Yanis’s face.
“I—it’s just.” He huffs in irritation, finding himself tempted to drop the matter, to pretend like the conversation never started. But Astarion catches his eyes, openly caring, and he knows that he shouldn’t run.
“What—what do you see, when you look at me?”
Astarion’s lips twitch into an instinctive smile, both curious and confused. “You needn’t use me as a mirror, love, surely you can see that handsome face of yours all on your own.”
Yanis’s mouth parts for a moment, suddenly feeling ridiculous for having even asked, but Astarion swiftly continues before he can get a word out.
“But really, darling, if you wanted me to return the favor, you only needed to ask. I’m always happy to oblige.”
Yanis chuckles softly under his breath, watching as Astarion considers him, both playful and thoughtful.
“Well, to start, you’re quite a bit bigger than me.” He begins, “Can’t say I typically enjoy feeling smaller but—there’s nothing to worry about when it comes to you.” His pale hands find Yanis’s shoulders, palms smoothing down over his chest, “I’m certainly not complaining about it. My big, strong protector. A sweet thought, no?”
“You’re hardly small or helpless, Astarion.” Yanis murmurs, but he’s nearly smiling, hands precariously finding Astarion’s waist as he sways closer.
“Well, yes, only a fool would think that, but I’m always up for a show. You look positively delicious in action.” There’s a flicker of a pink tongue over his fangs, a sharp smile tugging at his lips.
His eyes trace over Yanis’s face, lip caught under his teeth, “And you have the most darling freckles, you know.” He loops his arms behind Yanis’s neck, “You’d make a dead heart beat anew, with that face. Perhaps you already have.” The honeyed words, sweet as sugar and laced with genuine sincerity, have Yanis’s chest feeling tight. He should hate how he hangs off of every word, but Astarion makes it easy.
“Like me for my looks, do you?” The tease doesn’t come as naturally as it should, but Yanis feels warmed regardless, feels a little more normal after days of distance between them.
Astarion smirks, peering up at him through the dark fan of his lashes, “Well, they’re certainly a plus, aren’t they?” The playful and demure way he looks at him quickly falls away, though, the mask slipping off as soon as it had appeared.
Astarion sighs softly, his fingers tentatively brushing over the nape of Yanis’s neck, “But they’re not all I like, truth be told. I wouldn’t still be here, if it was.”
Astarion’s thumbs brush over the points of Yanis’s jaw, soothing and repetitive. “No, you’re—rather kind, aren’t you? Where it counts, anyway. You’re not an absolute bleeding heart, thank the Gods, but you’ve always done right by me, haven’t you? Could have left a stake in my heart, or sent me away to rot in my misery, or back to my Master—but you didn’t.”
One hand slips farther forward, a pale thumb brushing over Yanis’s bottom lip, “I’d be stupid to squander this. Even I can recognize a good thing when I have it.”
Yanis breathes out shakily, lips pressing a hesitant kiss to the center of Astarion’s palm, his flesh soft and cool to the touch.
“Thank you. For…all of this.” Yanis breathes the words into his skin, feeling the shiver that wracks through the other man. He makes a small noise, almost an airy laugh, though he shifts in Yanis’s hold from the simple intimacy.
“What’s all this about, then, darling? Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”
Yanis’s fingers wrap loosely around Astarion’s wrist, deceptively delicate despite the obvious power he holds. He frown, that guilt roiling in his gut again.
“You could have anyone, you know. Anyone at all.” He mutters, not daring to meet that crimson gaze, like pools of shimmering blood, “I guess I just don’t get why you’d choose me.”
Astarion scoffs nearly immediately, staring at him for a few moments in disbelief before he scoffs again.
“That’s ridiculous.” He says succinctly, a perfect brow raised.
Yanis sighs, “I’m—different—from the others—”
Astarion makes another affronted noise. “Perhaps. But hardly in a bad way, darling. Certainly not in the way that you’re thinking.”
He takes Yanis’s face between two cool, smooth palms.
“Of course I could have anyone. I’ve had everyone, at this point. Good and bad—though, mostly bad, if I’m being honest.” He huffs, tilting Yanis’s chin up so their eyes meet, “But no one else is you, now are they? If I were to do this with anyone else then—well, there’d be no point, now would there?”
Yanis’s hands tighten around Astarion’s slim waist, fingers nearly curling into his shirt. He sways forward until their forehead’s brush, a pleased hum caught low in Astarion’s throat.
“I’m sorry.”
“None of that.” Astarion scolds lightly, a small smile playing over his full lips, “I’ll shower you in as many praises as you’d like. You only need to ask. It’s almost as if you’re incredibly important to me.”
Yanis huffs, Astarion’s lips just almost touching his.
“You’re important to me, too.” Yanis murmurs, smoothing a palm down the bend of Astarion’s spine. The smaller man soaks in the touch the same way he does each time, like it’s his first time ever experiencing it.
“Can I kiss you?” Yanis whispers in the sparse space between them, feeling the small breath Astarion releases—both endeared and surprised that even now, Yanis searches for his permission.
“All yours, darling.” Astarion hums, “You needn’t ask.”
It’s the only encouragement Yanis needs to press forward, allowing their lips to finally seal. Yanis nearly groans at the contact, Astarion’s lips soft and almost cold against his own, but quickly warming as he presses closer. His hands soon find Yanis’s hips, marking a cool trail down his chest and stomach. Astarion’s tongue presses easily inside his mouth, fangs a prickle of small nips over his lip, just a tease of how easily they could break the skin.
Yanis moans at the thought, their hips slotting together, Astarion’s clever mouth making his brain feel like incomprehensible mush. Kissing Astarion always feels like touching a live wire, coming in contact with a thunderstorm, washed away with the sounds and the force of it. But still so gentle—careful, in many ways.
Then Astarion is tugging Yanis forward without breaking the kiss, pulling him down onto the blankets. Yanis hovers over him, hands planted on the mattress on either side of Astarion’s head. Yanis’s tongue brushes over the points of Astarion’s fangs, and he very nearly falls forward with the shudder that wracks through him. He nips at Astarion’s bottom lip, sucking just slightly and is rewarded with a soft whine, strong hands yanking him closer by the hips.
Thin fingers prod at Yanis’s shirt, tugging lightly at the hem, when Astarion pulls away with a quiet pop.
He’s nowhere near breathless where Yanis must be flushed horribly by now, his breaths measured lest he start panting into the vampire’s face.
“How far do you feel like going tonight? We needn’t do more than this, if that’s what you want—”
“I want you to fuck me.” Yanis breathes out in a rush, and Astarion pauses.
He blinks for just a moment before he’s chuckling, an easy smirk finding its way onto his face. “Well, that could certainly be arranged. Turn over for me, would you?”
Yanis rolls onto his back without preamble, taking Astarion with him so he’s propped over his hips, a hand planted on Yanis’s broad chest for balance. Astarion settles comfortably, straddling Yanis’s pelvis and leaning down. He mouths over his jaw, his fangs a purposeful prick over his skin, threatening to sink into pale flesh but never pressing too hard.
“You’re so perfect.” He murmurs, his thumb tracing over the column of Yanis’s throat, his lips finding the space between his neck and shoulder. His tongue finds his pulse, laving over the steady thump of it. “You smell delightful.”
“Looking for a bite?” Yanis asks, already breathless, his heart racing behind the confinements of his ribs.
Astarion hums, considering as he kisses and licks at the delicate skin of Yanis’s throat. It makes him shiver, his hands running up and down the leather-clad flesh of Astarion’s lean thighs.
He eventually shakes his head, “The night’s just started, I don’t want you delirious just yet.” Astarion chuckles, pressing a surprisingly chaste kiss to the corner of Yanis’s jaw. But it certainly is a promise for later, and the thought is enough to make Yanis throb.
“Let’s get you undressed first, perhaps?” He phrases it like a question, liquid ruby eyes darting up to find his gaze, pale fingers playing with the strings of Yanis’s top. Yanis nods after just a moment of thought, lifting himself up off the mattress to help Astarion tug his shirt off. Astarion throws it to the side with little care, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.
Astarion always looks at him like he’s starving—both literally and figuratively, he supposes. It makes him shivers, resisting the urge to shift, Astarion’s lean body a firm pressure on top of him.
His eyes and hands find Yanis’s chest immediately once he’s bare, thumbing over his nipples until they tighten. Yanis moans softly, shifting just slightly under Astarion’s weight, fingers squeezing over his thighs. Astarion’s hips roll in response, a slow glide as his mouth finds one of Yanis’s pecs. He hisses at the feeling of Astarion’s tongue, wet and hot and circling the bud, his teeth a sharp hint over the plump flesh.
He peers up at Yanis through dark lashes, trailing kisses over the skin, unphased when his mouth brushes against scar tissue. He sucks the other nipple into his mouth with a small hum, his hand content to cup his pec and squeeze. Yanis tries his best not to squeak, fingers twisted in Astarion’s shirt, hips rocking up into him just to find no relief.
“You’re lovely.” Astarion breathes when he pulls back, but his hands don’t leave Yanis’s chest, touching and rubbing appreciatively, “And you always make the sweetest sounds.” He thumbs over a nipple, already red and puffy.
“Astarion.” He hisses, though he’s not quite sure what he’s even asking for, but Astarion gracefully slides further down the bed anyway. Like he knows exactly what he wants, a small smirk curving over his full mouth.
He fits in between Yanis’s legs, palming over his firm thighs with thin fingers, pushing them apart. He presses kisses over Yanis’s stomach as he tugs off his leather trousers, taking his underwear with it. Yanis shivers at the shock of cold air followed by the coolness of Astarion’s hands, though they slowly begin to warm as he caresses over Yanis’s hips and thighs.
His lips find the point of his hip bone, trailing down to the crease of his leg, leaving open mouthed kisses against the skin. He sucks marks into the inside of his thigh, holding it still with a firm grip, his other hand pressing Yanis’s hip down to the bed. He moans, back arching just slightly off the bed, his fingers tangling gently into white curls. And that’s when Astarion’s fangs finally break the skin, a shallow cut that just barely dribbles with blood, but Yanis moans as Astarion laps it up.
When he looks down, Astarion holds his gaze as his teeth sink carefully into him again, kissing at the faint marks he’s left behind. It’s a tickle compared to what those teeth are truly capable of—compared to what Yanis really wants. His pale lips become glossed with red, going rosey pink with Yanis’s blood.
“You taste amazing, darling. Always.” He hums happily into the skin, sucking at the shallow bite, drawing just small specks of blood from the wound.
He pulls away after a long moment to spread Yanis’s legs instead, dark eyes finding the apex of his thighs. Yanis twitches under his gaze, his cunt already throbbing and damp, the muscles in his abdomen jumping when Astarion’s fingers find his slick folds.
His hand tighten instinctively in Astarion’s hair, looking for something to hold as he moans quietly, a groan rumbling low in Astarion’s throat in response.
“Let me put my mouth on you, my sweet? I’ll make you feel so good.” His fingerpads brush over Yanis’s hole, gathering the slick there before sliding back up, circling his clit in slow circles. “Pretty please?”
Yanis thinks that if his brain weren’t fried, he’d laugh at his pleading, at the teasing and honeyed lilt of his desire. As of now, he feels like he could shake right out of his own skin if Astarion doesn't get his mouth back on him immediately.
“Yes.” He murmurs with a shuddering breath, his thumb tracing the point of Astarion’s ear, watching as he sinks down onto his stomach.
He can feel Astarion’s breaths over his cunt, just slightly cooler than average, his hands wrapped firmly around Yanis’s full hips. He shifts in Astarion’s hold, pelvis rolling forward as he tugs lightly at his fair curls. Astarion shudders and happily obliges, eagerly swaying forward, his tongue delving between warm folds. Yanis nearly helps at the contact, arching sharply as Astarion licks at him—firm, wet strokes from his hole up to his chubby dick.
“Ah, fuck—” His breath hiccups, Astarion’s tongue dipping inside his entrance, pressing forward as he grows looser around him. Astarion moans into the heat of his cunt, the thumb of one of his hands stroking at his clit, dark lashes fluttered closed in contentment.
Yanis chokes on a soft sound, “Astarion.” His hands flex in his silvery curls, careful not to yank or pull, but just to hold. An anchor for the both of them.
Yanis’s hips are held down with a firm hand, lips sucking lightly at his rim before Astarion eagerly dives back in. He feels hot all over, a dull ache in his thigh from the vampire’s teeth, and his skin scorching wherever Astarion’s cold hands find him. He’s noisy, even like this, murmuring and humming contentedly into Yanis’s folds with each lap of his clever tongue. Yanis whines at the slight vibrations, Astarion’s lips moving to wrap around his chubby cock, tonguing over the nub and sucking.
His hips jolt up with a startled yelp, his hand shakily smoothing Astarion’s hair back from his face, meeting burning red eyes as fingers prod at his sopping entrance. He’s nearly dripping already, Astarion’s finger slipping inside easily, prodding deeper as Yanis’s walls flex around the intrusion. Astarion watches every reaction, his pupils blown and his pointed ears flushed, peeking out from under soft, downy white curls.
He thinks he could melt into the bedsheets, Astarion’s tongue flicking over his clit as his finger begins to move. Astartion’s free hand curls around his hip, nails pricking at his skin and keeping him held down, easy strength hidden in his lean figure. He slips in a second finger after just a few moments, a sigh pressing past Yanis’s lips at the stretch. Astarion hums again, eyes slipping shut, and Yanis can feel his legs begin to twitch, abdomen jumping with the approach of his orgasm. Astarion keeps him pinned, and it only serves to make him feel molten with heat, like liquid honey pooling low in his gut.
“Close.” He chokes, petting at Astarion’s head with trembling fingers, back arching as the man’s efforts only seem to redouble. His fingers thrust forward purposefully, sliding over ridges deep inside, lips closing around Yanis’s clit as they curl.
Yanis can feel himself tense, a sharp gasp catching in his throat as Astarion’s fingers and tongue work him closer and closer—until he’s coming hard with a pitched moan, held to the mattress only from Astarion’s hand keeping him down. His mouth falls open on a harsh pant, twitching from sensitivity as Astarion works him through it, groaning around his clit. He can see small starbursts from behind his eyelids, his legs jerking against Astarion’s sides as he desperately tries to catch his breath.
Astarion pulls off of him when Yanis pushes lightly at his head, the vampire’s face left wet with slick, lips glossed and still stained red. His fingers slip out, sticky with release. Yanis slowly opens his eyes again, meeting glinting crimson eyes, dark beneath the fan of his lashes.
“Enjoyed yourself?” Astarion says smugly—contemplating it for just a moment, and promptly using his own shirt to wipe his mouth and fingers before discarding it to lie with Yanis’s own. Yanis laughs as Astarion crawls over him again, leather-clad thighs lodged under his own.
“You’re going to regret doing that in the morning.”
Astarion waves him off with a kiss, “I’ll whine when that time comes, then.”
Yanis huffs, returning the kiss easily, hands clasped behind Astarion’s neck. He tugs him closer, aching to have them touching at every point they can manage. The vampire shifts forward with the slightest urge, his hard cock brushing over Yanis’s wet cunt through his leathers. He shivers, burying his face in Astarion’s shoulder, mouthing at the pale skin there. Astarion doesn’t sweat, but Yanis’s own heat has seemed to seep into him, leaving his pale flesh just slightly flushed and almost warm.
“You’re still overdressed.” He breathes, teeth working a mark into Astarion’s clavicle, breath puffing out hotly over his skin. The vampire shudders above him, and even if the mark won’t last very long, Yanis admires the deep purple of it while he can.
Astarion shucks off his trousers with as much grace as he can manage, ever pious and prissy—but he’s returning to Yanis quickly, cool skin pressing over him, still a vibrant shock against the heat of Yanis’s body. He shakes, his teeth sucking marks into that perfect expanse of his pale shoulders, leaving any mark that he can. Anything that could prove that he was there, with him, right at this moment. A trickle of possessiveness, the ever-growing satisfaction of knowing Astarion was here because he wanted to be, whether Yanis thought he deserved it or not.
He knows that it means a lot—knows it means something pretty fucking grand in Astarion’s ruby eyes.
Astarion’s hips shift forward and his cock brushes over Yanis’s folds, heavy and hot as it kisses his clit. Yanis gasps, biting down on a sharp whine, fingers clenching into Astarion’s shoulder blades. The vampire moans, sharp teeth pressing over the delicate skin of Yanis’s throat, the head of his cock teasing at his entrance.
Yanis sucks in a long breath as Astarion slowly pushes inside, breathing praises and curses into the side of Yanis’s neck. “So warm.” Astarion huffs, firmly keeping Yanis’s hips still with his hands around them, “Oh, you’re perfect. Every time.”
Astarion’s pelvis rolls expertly, pulling away just far enough to see Yanis’s face, “Always take me so well.” He hums and Yanis groans, legs tightening around Astarion hips. He’s already trembling.
“Astarion—”
He pulls back and thrusts forward, the words catching and dying immediately in Yanis’s throat. His ankles lock behind Astarion’s back, tugging him closer and keeping him there.
“Such a perfect hole, and all for me. Just mine.” Astarion’s grin is all teeth, glinting and sharp as he fucks him, Yanis’s mouth open around harsh pants.
“Ah—Astarion—” He scratches over his back, not enough to break the skin but enough to leave a satisfying mark.
Astarion groans, moving deep inside of him, hitching his hips up just slightly. “Again. Say my name again.”
“Astarion.” Yanis whines and he pitches forward, groaning into Yanis’s neck, hand hooking under his thigh and shoving it up. “Astarion, please—”
“Precious. You’re so good for me.” His teeth break the skin of his shoulder harshly and Yanis nearly shouts, the wave of pain quickly replaced by starbursts of pleasure, heat crawling from his head down to his toes. He moans softly, fingers clenching in Astarion’s hair as he drinks from him, lapping greedily at the puncture wounds. “Always so good.”
And then Astarion’s thumb is on his cock, circling the nub slowly as he fucks Yanis at a steady pace. He throws his head back with a gasp, overwhelmed by the fullness of his cunt and the perfect sting of Astarion’s teeth in his skin.
He can feel another orgasm rapidly approaching, his thighs clenching around Astarion’s sides as his voice pitches with soft whines, Astarion’s lips and mouth greedily lapping up trickles of blood that pool over his clavicle. His nails scrape down Astarion’s back, catching on the ridges of old scars. His chest is tight, a knot building in his gut, tangled and growing. He clenches, dripping down onto the bed, wet and messy as he takes Astarion’s cock. The thought is enough to make him moan, fangs nipping at his skin again, leaving marks in his flesh—painting it red with his own blood, and it must be leaving remnants on Astarion’s own.
He feels almost dizzy, nearly drunk on pleasure and burning, his back bowed in a harsh arc off of the bed—
And then he’s coming again with a choked shout, tightening around Astarion’s cock as he cries out, a shiver wracking through him. He feels breathless, like he’s unraveling, tears nearly building in his eyes—
Astarion’s hips don’t stop.
Yanis whines, his thighs quivering and his stomach tight, panting uselessly into Astarion’s neck.
“Astarion—I, hah, wha—”
Astarion pulls back, his pale lips stained red, a new flush of life on his face, eyes glinting like fine gems. Blood stains his chin, smeared over his cheek, his gaze glassy with pleasure. “You can give me another, can’t you, pet?” He murmurs breathlessly, one hand on Yanis’s hip, the other holding the side of his jaw. He thumbs at Yanis’s bottom lip, drinking in the sounds that fall from his mouth unbidden.
“Just one more. I know you can manage it, darling.”
Yanis groans but he doesn’t want to stop, even as he feels sparks of sensitivity run up his spine. “Yes.” He gasps, his teeth catching on his bottom lip as he whines, eyes squeezing shut.
Astarion is flipping him on his stomach before he can even think, deceptively strong and moving Yanis’s weight without issue. It makes him moan, his face buried in a pillow and Astarion’s cock easily slipping back inside of him.
“Oh, good boy. You’re so good at this—just taking me.” Astarion grabs his hips, keeping him pulled closed, Yanis’s whines muffled into cotton.
“No, no, none of that.” Yanis’s head is tugged back and he gasps,
“Let me hear you, love.”
Yanis’s mouth drops open with a moan, his knees shaky and his weight held up mostly by Astarion’s grip keeping him grounded. He feels like his entire body shudders, his throat nearly raw from the litany of noises that Astarion gratefully draws out. Astarion’s cock brushes deep inside of him, and even the ache is pleasurable, Astarion’s teeth finding his shoulder again. He nearly squirms, pain and pleasure swirling low in his gut, feeling as if he were bubbling over with heat.
Astarion shoves forward at the same that he properly bites him, and Yanis comes again with a near scream, “Astarion—”
And then he’s being filled with heat, Astarion’s moans pressed into his skin as his hips rock forward, his tongue lazily lapping at the bite he’s left behind. Yanis can feel himself dripping with Astarion’s come and he whines softly, having gone nearly limp and dumb, his eyes fluttering shut.
He feels good—tired and satiated. Better than he has in days, really.
Astarion mouths at his neck for several moments as they both calm down, short hums caught in his throat, thoroughly content—nearly like the purring of a satisfied cat. He pets at Yanis’s skin soothingly, smoothing over his hips and thighs as he sinks bonelessly to the bed. Astarion’s lean weight on top of him hardly feels like anything, but is comforting in its pressure.
It doesn't take very long for Yanis to start feeling sticky. Astarion doesn’t sweat on him, at least, but—
“We’ll need another bath.” He grumbles.
Astarion hums in response, and he must be reveling in Yanis’s heat, content to bask in the afterglow. “That does sound lovely right now.”
Neither of them get up for a long while. Yanis doesn’t mind.