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Astarion was draped elegantly over a chair he'd stolen from a goblin as he watches Shadowheart drink herself into a stupor. He'd briefly considered propositioning her, but…well. You don't follow a choice steak like Terminus with a bucket of the cheapest wine you can buy.
Or in the goblin’s case, make.
He suppresses a shudder as he looks over at what the goblins considered top grade ale; he could see chunks floating about. Idly swirling his goblet of stolen wine, Astarion's thoughts turned back to Terminus and the night they had shared. While he personally was disconnected from the act of sex, Terminus had come close-dangerously close, he hesitated to admit-to establishing an emotional connection.
His skin flushes with life gleefully stolen from refugees as he remembers the feel of the massive man between his legs, the way he'd stared so intently, paid attention to every noise Astarion made, took pains to make sure Astarion was satisfied. He huffed quietly; the sex wasn't just good, it was easily the best he'd had in the last century. He'd intended to trip the big tiefling into bed again tonight, but he saw the way that drow had spoken to him, ordered him around. Terminus was practically radiating resentment, yet still he obeyed.
Pity.
Downing his goblet in one fell swallow, Astarion stands to grab a refill when he feels it. Terminus’ hand, starting on his cheek before slowly drifting down. It gently caresses and squeezes his throat, and he can feel the sharp fingernails when they reach his chest. Tantalizingly, agonizingly, deliciously slowly the nails scratch from his chest down to his navel. The sensation of the hand sliding between his thighs before gently grabbing and stroking his cock, and Astarion lets out an involuntary groan.
Panting, Astarion closes his eyes as he struggles to maintain composure. There is a warmth on his ear, as though someone were oh so close and breathing heavily. Another sensation joins it: the warmth of lips, living lips, caressing his ear.
“Come to me,” Terminus breathes. A mental image, a makeshift shrine to the Absolute, in the abandoned house at the edge of their camp. Swallowing hard, he nods, not trusting his voice wouldn’t betray his eagerness. He spares a thought for Shadowheart, but she had reached her limit and was currently sleeping it off, sprawled across her bed. He moves through the throngs of goblins while phantom fingers caress his stomach, his ears, his ass.
He walks into the ruins to see Terminus, sprawled across the shrine, utterly nude. Astarion drinks in his naked glory, memorizing every ridge and crest, every scar. Even on his beautifully dark skin, scars are prominent, visible. The angry curves on his cheek, little puckered arrow holes across his back and shoulders, the sweeping lines from scimitars and longswords dancing across his chest and stomach. His personal favorite was the one he’d left. His mark, his brand. Prominent on his neck.
A dark, possessive feeling unwinds itself from his gut and slides up his spine as he continues to watch the tiefling bask in the moonless night. That drow, Minthara, had been many things, but he felt a smug satisfaction that he could reach parts of Terminus that she could not. Even if he never had another night with the man, a vicious feeling purrs with glee that at least he’d had him first, that he’d been eternally marked by him. That some piece of Terminus would always, always be his and his alone.
“Hello, darling,” he murmurs at last. Saying nothing, the tiefling sits up with a smirk, heavy lidded eyes beckoning him closer. Astarion steps forward, stumbling when he feels something both firm and soft underfoot. He looks down, blinking to hide his surprise when he realizes he’d stepped on the body of the drow. The unnatural angle of her head told him how she died, her nakedness told him when, and the mess on and under her hinted at a story he wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to hear.
Terminus had… proclivities.
“She was mediocre while living; only started to feel good after she cooled,” Terminus’ bassy voice rumbles, the deeper notes vibrating in Astarion’s chest. Eyes of silver flame beckon him closer, burning away all misgivings and reservations.
“So you thought of me? I can’t tell if I should be pleased or insulted.” Astarion stops right in front of the shrine, basking in the heat radiating off Terminus’ body. The big tiefling grips a hip as he pulls him close, the other hand sliding itself under his shirt. Astarion closes his eyes with a sigh, his hands exploring broad shoulders while lips brush his chest.
“How could I not think of a five course meal such as yourself, after choking down travel rations?” Terminus murmurs against Astarion’s chest.
“Flattery will get you no-” Astarion gasps.
“Not even in here?” Terminus’ hand begins to work at Astarion’s pants.
“A shrine though, darling? Really?” Astarion grabs a horn, pulling it back to force Terminus to look up at him. The tiefling smirks, dark and amused.
“Let me worship you then,” he whispers.
Terminus stands, towering over the shorter elf. Tangling white curls around his dark hand, he switches their positions while the other hand finishes loosening Astarion’s pants. Slowly, reverently, he goes to his knees, easing the pants down with him. The smirk broadens, becoming a lustful grin as Astarion gasps at the touch of cold stone against his ass.
Astarion looks down at the tiefling on his knees before him. His breath quickening, he cradles the scarred cheek in his hand, thumb tracing the violently meandering path across Terminus’ face. Suddenly impatient, he grips the base of a horn, lip curled, while he pulls the tiefling to his groin.
“Then worship me,” he hisses, as he feeds himself into Terminus' hungry and willing mouth. Breath hitching in his chest, he admires the view of pitch black lips wrapping around his cock before making a mess of both of them. A smooth metal stud drags itself along the underside of his shaft while hands grip his hips, a strained sigh of pleasure crawling from his chest. Nails dig into his flesh and as they pierce his sides, pinning him in place, he leans backwards with a shuddering moan, aching to sheathe himself in Terminus’ throat.
“Whore,” he mutters, deliberately meeting Terminus' eyes. “Fucking take it.” Terminus moans, eyes rolling back in his head and before Astarion can react, he feels it. Feels Terminus' throat open as Astarion’s cock sinks home at last while the walls of Terminus' throat squeeze and massage him.
“Gods yes. Such a hungry little whore, aren't you?”
Not waiting for a response, Astarion runs grasping fingers through Terminus' hair. The light scratch along the bare skin on his scalp drives the tiefling into a shuddering heap, the sounds of pleasure that Astarion knows by heart muffled and buried deep in Terminus' throat.
Propping himself up with one hand on the shrine behind him, Astarion sighs as he admires the man between his legs. There was something about seeing such a man, so muscular and commanding, so dominating outside the bedroom, in such a reversal. So obedient, so submissive. Breath hitching in his chest as he continues to stare at the man wrapped around his cock, an idea sparks down his spine.
“Look at you, my sweet. So obedient. So submissive. The fearsome Terminus. Ender of Groves. Conqueror of Grymforge. Hagbane. And yet it's me you worship. It's before me you kneel. It's me you submit to,” Astarion whispers. His breathing quickens further as he loses himself in the smooth, wet heat of Terminus' mouth. His climax is approaching, and Astarion aches to see Terminus choke on it.
“Gods below, yes. Worship me. Swallow me. Choke on me, whore.” Astarion snarls as he grips a horn and pulls it to him. He stares down into Terminus’ eyes, panting with pleasure as tears well. As they fall, dragging the man's eyeliner down his face, Astarion relents. Letting go of the horn, he smears tears and spit across the tiefling's face.
“You're such a pretty slut, my pet. You've been such a good little whore, I'll even let you tell me how you want to cum tonight. Tell me, pet. How do you want to cum?”
Terminus draws back and Astarion grits his teeth at the loss, even as he admires the mess he'd made of the tiefling's face in the dim starlight. Terminus stares up at him while his studded tongue works Astarion's shaft.
“Kill me again,” he whispers, voice husky and rough. “Kill me when you cum. I don't care how, just kill me.” The tiefling moans as he briefly swallows Astarion once more.
“Kill my favorite pet?” Astarion wasn't sure how serious Terminus was, yet despite his uncertainty, he feels himself becoming further aroused at the thought, at possessing this man so thoroughly.
“Kill me, then fuck my corpse. Ravage my corpse until I'm cold. Bring me back gaped and dripping with you. Be the last thing in life I taste, and the first thing I feel when dragged back to this wretched life.” Gray eyes burn with madness all-consuming, inviting and enticing, and Astarion accepts the invitation without a second thought.
“Is that what you want, pet?”
“Yes, please.”
“Then pray for it, whore.” Snarling, Astarion slams himself down Terminus’ throat. Growling at the ring of muscle denying him entry, he forces himself past.
Gripping a horn in each hand, Astarion pulls Terminus' head as far down on his cock as possible. Looking to the side, he smirks at the bulge in his pet’s throat. Sparing a hand, he reaches down to squeeze it, groaning at feeling such a pleasurable sensation. It was an uncomfortable position, much to his disappointment, and he returns his hand to Terminus' horn.
His climax is quickly approaching, and a stream of quiet invectives falls from his mouth, insulting and degrading. Tears and spit flow freely down Terminus' cheeks and chin, his make-up smeared and staining the skin. Eyes burning with insanity continued to look up at Astarion, watch him. Worship him. Pray to him. Like a good little pet.
Astarion’s climax draws ever closer and he groans as he feels his balls draw up and tighten.
“Soon, pet. I'm so close. I'm going to cum down your throat, and you've been so good, such an obedient little whore, I'm going to grant your prayer.” Astarion gasps as sharp teeth graze him, the sensation pleasing rather than painful. “ Yes, pet. Please me, please your god.”
Frantically, Astarion shoves himself even farther down Terminus’ throat, cutting off all air. Chest heaving as he approaches the cusp, he stared down into his pet's eyes. Insanity burns hotter than the flames dancing in his eyes, even as eyelids flutter weakly while Astarion deprives him of air.
Madness flickers in his thoughts and as they burn away the last of his doubt, his shame, his fear, he at last understands. Why Terminus stares hungrily during combat. The way his fingers stroke and caress corpses as he searches them. Why he lingers over the mangled fallen, sending Astarion and Shadowheart back to camp without him. Why he'd fixated on Astarion, pursuing him obsessively, with an intensity known only to the insane. What a twisted little plaything Astarion has found.
“Whore,” Astarion growls. He's dragging himself along that bitter edge, taking his time. His pet’s eyes are growing dim, and Astarion feels a rush knowing he is why. He is why his little pet is about to die. He wants to break this thing in front of him. Ruin him. He wants to rip him open, gulp down every wriggling piece he deems unnecessary, pleasure himself on what's left, carving his whore into the perfect object for pleasure.
Moments away, Astarion watches Terminus, desperate to see his eyes fade. He’s seen that blissful second happen hundreds of times, thousands of times, but never when their mouth was swallowing him. Terminus is taking that dark virginity, giving it to him with all of himself, and Astarion finds himself perversely excited for the gift of such a pretty corpse.
“Die for your god, whore,” he gasps, his excitement pushing him over the edge at last. Shaking with the intensity of his orgasm, he watches the flames in his pet's eyes sputter away, his mouth falling slack around him. Eyes rolling back in his head, he shifts the head on his cock, using it to tease out the last shuddering pulses. Chest heaving, he stares down at the dead man, pleased he's still stiff to the point of pain.
“Down, whore,” he smirks, roughly shoving the corpse off him. The body lands rough, attractively limp. Obedient. Compliant. Astarion feels light-headed as he stares hungrily at his little pet, debating which piece of him he'll claim first. He's made a promise to this luscious little corpse, and Astarion is aching to keep his promise.
After a moment's consideration, Astarion shoves his pet to its stomach. Panting, he shoves fingers in Terminus’ gaped and dripping mouth, moaning at the sensation; still so wet, so warm. Rubbing slick fingers over Terminus’ ass, plunging them inside, he can see Terminus' cock twitch and shudder, dripping corpse cum. Unwilling to wait any further, stroking himself slick, he presses his tip to Terminus' ass.
Sinking fully inside with one deep stroke, Astarion gasps at the sensation. No resistance, flesh still warm. He begins to thrust, aggressively. Violently. This body is his. To use, until he tires of it. To abuse, when he tires of using it.
“I own you,” he snarls, slamming himself ever harder into the willing corpse. “Your life is mine. Your body is mine, regardless if you are dead or alive. I will have you however I want. Whenever I want. I decide if you live or die. You exist solely for my pleasure now, whore.”
Astarion's vision grows dim when he cums, intense and liberating. Panting, he stares down at Terminus' ass. The ass of a corpse, that he was still buried in, cock twitching and throbbing. Cautiously, with an air of morbid fascination, he begins to pull out. There are other pieces of this body he wants to claim, if he wants to bring it back a filthy mess.
The moment he moves, he groans, sensitive cock overwhelmed at the surrounding sensations. The steaming, scalding heat of his own cum. The supple pliancy of the flesh surrounding him, gaping open in death, begging to be used. Inhaling sharply, he thrusts once, not yet ready to vacate such a greedy hole.
Cum oozes up around him, where it slowly began to drip down to the ground. Again he pushes, and again, until he feels a familiar ecstasy rush through him. Pulling himself out with an impatient snarl, he watches the arc of his release splatter across the side of the face, dripping beautifully off slack lips, joining the pool that's spreading from his plaything’s mouth.
Astarion stares at the body under him, admiring how he's marked his ownership. His pet, his plaything, his possession. Sinking himself fully once, electricity sparks down his spine when he realizes he can feel the body cooling around him.
Madness overtakes him, and Astarion loses himself fucking a corpse, his lover's-no. Lover implies equality, and he knew they weren't equal. His plaything, his toy. He loses himself fucking his plaything, satisfying himself with his now-cold toy underneath him. He even manages to ride his pet's corpse-stiff cock until he cums, the pleasure from it deep and sharp. Panting, nearly spent, he shifts to pull himself off.
Letting out a pained whimper, Astarion freezes. It's too big, or he's too sensitive. Quite possibly both. He sits there, ice cold corpse between his thighs, ice cold cock buried in his ass to the hilt. Every movement, every shifting of weight, he can feel it teasing his prostate. It's both too much and not enough, but Astarion needs to feel it. He needs to be scraped empty, just as he had scraped this plaything empty.
Grinding slowly, he memorizes the feeling of his dead pet's cock, stiffened by Death, hollowing him out just as he had hollowed out this pretty little thing. Grabbing a resurrection scroll, he murmurs the spell in between desperate little whimpers. He would miss this dead flesh, but another night, he'll indulge. Another night, he'll feast .
A bright flash lights up their little den of debauchery as Terminus tries to draw breath, arching his hips upward. Astarion cries out, the sudden thrust roughly pulling him to the edge. Terminus struggles to swallow what Astarion has shot down his throat as it spills out of the corners of his mouth and down his chin, coughing as he fights to draw a breath. Silver eyes of madness stare hungrily at him as Terminus adapts quickly to the position he's been resurrected into, cold hands once again piercing Astarion's hips.
Astarion increases his pace. Terminus, now living, is still cold. The combination of his pet thrusting violently inside him while still draped with the cold of the grave is more than Astarion can take. A low passionate moan drags itself from his gut, fingers spasming as they dig into Terminus' chest. The fingers in his hips bite deeper, stolen blood rushing up to meet them. Blood running down oversensitive skin, Astarion struggles to breathe.
The pace frantic, Astarion feels a familiar heat blossom in his mind. Terminus is requesting entry, ghostly fingers stroking and penetrating a spot in Astarion's mind that sends fire curling down his spine. Desperate for more, Astarion let down his walls with a sigh, laying himself bare, fully exposed in mind, body, and soul.
His tadpole shivers with orgasmic fervor as Terminus penetrates his mind, the heat around his spine sinking to his groin. Penetrated in mind, penetrated in body, Astarion is skewered, held in place by pleasure unimaginable. His tadpole writhes and twists in his skull, the sensation suddenly erotic instead of uncomfortable. Unable to breathe, grinding desperately against the cock in his ass, Astarion could barely gasp out his desperate pleas. “Don't stop.”
The heat around his mind, buried deep inside him, mercilessly fucking the most tender pieces in his mind grows even hotter as Terminus goes through his memories of the entire day.
Waking up, cum-stained limbs tangled around each other, Astarion's cock still buried in Terminus' ass. The pleasure Astarion felt as he fed himself to gorging on tieflings, thrashing bodies stilling before going limp. One tiefling came when Astarion fed, his horror and shame a potent aphrodisiac. The fear in druid eyes as they too fought in vain against his strength, only to succumb.
Watching Terminus wade through the battlefield, implacable and unyielding, a conquering warlord. His lascivious smile as he penetrated his prey, how he drank in their choked sobs as he slowly dragged his blade out of them. The bliss in his eyes when he used his hands, eyes rolling back as he squeezed the life out of them. The rampant lust as bodies dropped around him. Astarion’s disappointment when Terminus had disappeared with the drow whore, and subsequent pleasure when Terminus whispered for him.
Terminus crawls through Astarion's memory of his death, his every action afterwards lived and relived, over and over. The heat in Astarion's mind grows, even as the cock in his ass begins a relentless, merciless rhythm. Terminus was more than pleased; he was ecstatic. Astarion can feel it, his joy that his prayer had been fulfilled. A god, his god, had at last granted him his deepest and darkest desire.
A hand pulls out of his hip and he whimpers at the absence. He's so close, so desperate.
A bloodied hand pulling-a stiff cock slamming-a voice, whispering degradation and-snarling as a hand penetrated-bloodied fingers painting his-a corpse underneath-fingers forced down his-blood stolen from screaming innocents roaring-pressure along his spine as he neared-on the edge, he snarls “Your god granted your prayer, whore . Show me your devotion. Cum for me. Cum for your god.”
Euphoria.
Time stops, the flames of ecstasy and madness rushing across Astarion's mind. He cries out, the sound squeezing around his throat and spilling from his lips in tandem with his pet spilling into him. Simultaneous ecstasy of mind and flesh, the tadpole in his brain shuddering and twitching as it experiences an orgasm of its own. He and Terminus are one, their minds fully linked. The shared and echoed pleasure is more than Astarion can process and he loses the the boundary of himself in the bright moments as their twinned orgasms slow.
Gasping, feeling uncomfortably full yet not ready to be empty, Astarion collapses onto Terminus' chest. He can feel himself though the connection, feel the hand still sunk into his hip even as he feels his hip through Terminus' hand and mind. It's disconcerting; it's erotic. He's laid bare past the bone, to the very bottom of his soul.
He can feel Terminus, lazily and contentedly sprawling through his mind, basking in the warm afterglow. Carefully, cautiously, Astarion ventures into the shadowy depths of Terminus’ mind. It's dark, with razor sharp edges that threaten to slice him in half for looking at them. Yet still he explores, settling himself into every little nook he can find. As he meanders, he's struck by Terminus' true feelings for him: loyalty; adoration; devotion; faith.
He loves me. This must be what love feels like.
“You feel good, spread through my mind like that,” Terminus murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. Astarion knows; he can feel it. Hearing that deep voice whisper in his ear however, vibrating his chest...that's a different pleasure. A hand reaches under his chin, tilting his head back as warm lips find his.
A lifetime later, Terminus draws back, the silver flames in his eyes dancing once more. “Yes, my pet?” Astarion asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Thank you. For granting my prayer.”
Astarion props himself up, looking down at his pet with a smirk. Leaning down, he kisses him deeply, hand cradling his jaw, drawing back only when Terminus pulls out of him. Astarion makes a small noise at feeling himself hollowed out, burning embers swirling briefly around his spine before dying out.
“I'll always grant your prayers, my sweet.”