divinestrike | Overflow / Open Post

[For several beats of hastened heart, Nepione entertains the notion of what it might be like to get lost in him. To forget time and obligation and everything she tries to carry. It is tempting. Of course, there's a part of her that wants that attention, as much as she often ignores it and intentionally puts it aside.

But Astarion is a very special case. It seems like it could potentially be very poor form. If she gives in, she reinforces what he already thinks. Rather, what she thinks he thinks.

At his words, she slowly peers over her shoulder, not enough to actually see him, but enough that he knows she's listening.]

That's not what we agreed to.

[But then, she supposes neither was embracing him. And she did that only because it felt like the right thing to do in the moment. One could make the argument that whittling time with Astarion could be the same.]

[ Astarion is trained to spot desire from a mile away, and if he were the betting sort, he'd feel confident in betting on this. Still, he doesn't move any further, just taps his fingers lightly on her upper arms. ]

But it's what you want, isn't it?

[ Some relationship building. ]

That seems a touch unfair to ask.

[Maybe because he already knows the answer. Maybe because she knows the answer. What does she want? That's a little more complicated, because she doesn't wholly know. Being close could be nice. That trace of fingertips. That trace of lips. That trace of teeth. To let him know her so closely. To know him so closely that she could take in every soft spot of his skin. She shifts just a little beneath his touch, though not nearly enough to remove him.]

Should I want to embarrass myself in front of you? Would that be worth indulgence? I think I'd only disappoint you.

[She's not afraid of many things, but she is afraid of that. Not just disappointing him. Disappointing any of them. But to do so in such a vulnerable way. She couldn't ever take it back.]

Is that really what you want, Astarion? If so, I hope you have a better reason for it than because you think I need some kind of saving from my discipline.

[ Astarion has a myriad of reasons to want this. He wants her to trust him. To protect him if it comes down to it, and it very well might. He can certainly think of worse choices to spend a night with — there's a reason he isn't out attempting to polish Gale's wizard staff, Gods forbid. Nepione is alluring in a naïve, wholesome sort of way. The kind of person who would surely be more endeared to a man who unlocked long-hidden pleasures than a pickpocketing vampire spawn.

He deftly avoids answering any questions about his own intentions, instead saying, ] You're afraid of disappointing me? Don't be.

[ The idea is almost laughable, although he doesn't say so. He's had a multitude of highly disappointing sexual encounters; anything with her could hardly come close, regardless of inexperience. She's stupidly kind. Beautiful. Wouldn't ask him to do something he doesn't want to. That alone puts her a cut above the rest. ]

I only want to bring you pleasure.

[ There. Pressure to perform off. ]

[There it is again. He's making it about her. Most people, normal people, would probably want to hear that. She must be so far removed from normal that she's the very last person she even thinks of. Well, that's how she'd like it to be. She doesn't scold him this time for any of that, though she might like to. She won't repeat herself.]

I didn't say I was afraid.

[For though she is, he can't know that. She has to seem resilient. She has to seem perfect. Even if she isn't. Even knowing that she isn't.

As she considers the truth of his proposal, she tries to imagine the repercussions. If there are any. She could simply pretend it never happened at all, couldn't she? She's certainly not the sort to talk about it. And even if he did, she could simply act like she'd never heard it to begin with.

Finally freeing her hands in favour of lifting one to play with an errant dark line of hair that assaults her, she finally finds her voice again.]

Say I agree to this. Will you stop agitating me? No more of this 'pent up cleric' teasing you so enjoy doing? No more of this unnecessary talk of 'relationship building'? If so, fine. I hardly can see me getting any peace and quiet from you otherwise.

[She makes it sound like he's so troublesome. Like her own interest is so minimal. But maybe she has to pretend that it is. Better than letting him think he's really had any sort of effect on her. She's much too proud for that. For now.]

[ Astarion's done everything right, made her practically tremble with excitement, and yet she still denies any interest. How vexing, to have a wrench like this thrown in his plans. Fine, then — he'll adapt, as he always has. His hands come off her shoulders and he leans in towards her ear, a hint of genuine pridefulness in his voice. ]

Sorry, darling, but I don't beg.

[ He seduces, corrupts, charms, but never begs. If she's to act like bedding him is a chore — or worse, a favor — then his pride demands said bedding not happen at all. He wrings out the cloth and turns, starting to wade out of the river. ]

Oh, but when you're ready to, I trust you know where to find me.

But you expect me to?

[It actually leaves her so fast that she hasn't had time to really parse out exactly what the consequences are for saying it. She does turn to watch him and before he can get too far, she reaches out with the intent to snag his hand.]

I've humoured you. Entertained you. I've let you taunt me. And I've been honest with you.

[As honest as she feels she can be.]

You'd have me endure all of that, have me admit that I'm perfectly capable of holding interest in you, in agreeing that you're charming, handsome, that I might— [Less 'might'. There's obviously a part of her that cares about his well-being. How far that care goes is another matter.] —that I might be curious. That I might not dislike the idea. The possibility. You have my attention.

[ He allows her to take his hand. His fingers are, quite frankly, beginning to become pruney after some time in the water. Hardly the sensual touch he was going for. ]

Ah, but it looks like we're at quite an impasse.

[ She wants him, she doesn't want him. He has no interest in decoding her emotional cryptography when what he offers, purely physical pleasure, is simple. It needn't be as complicated as she makes it, only a straightforward 'yes' or 'no'. ]

Or were you hoping to play the unwilling maiden ravished by the savage vampire? You should have said.

Please.

[He makes heat flood her features so easily that what she'd love more than anything is to develop an immunity to that exact thing. If she were feeling more courageous, she'd even scoff. Unwilling maidens and savage vampires. Sounds like another poorly-written book she'd keep in her not!collection he's convinced she has.]

You frustrate me. [She always feels like she's at odds with him, and though that normally leaves something worrisome to be considered (for their camp cannot operate smoothly under discord), in the very precise moment, that he is capable of provoking such an emotional response out of her, it also makes her feel very alive. The irony.] I said yes.

[Well, technically—]

I'm saying yes.

[ Part of him wants to roll his eyes at her clearly conflicted feelings towards him — him, frustrating? Has she met the rest of their companions? — but that wouldn't be very seductive at all, so he squashes the urge for now, committed to playing the fantasy of the tempting rake. He draws closer, leaning in as if for a kiss but stopping just shy of their lips touching; if he were the type to breathe, she would be able to feel it ghost over her skin. ]

A little frustration can be a good thing.

[Debatable.

She thinks she's a pretty good demonstration of what frustration does to someone. Makes it hard for her to not yank him back and forth as she deals with the unnecessary complexity of her own wants. If she thought it wouldn't overinflate his ego, she might admit that she's actually quite envious of his ability to simply pursue what he wants. She's certainly never felt like she could. Because everyone else always has to come first.

But maybe that's just an excuse to keep her out of seductive moments with handsome vampire spawn who threaten her personal space. She frees his hand, lifting her own and imperceptibly she pauses before she presses fingertips atop his chest, splaying them. Dusting the tip of her nose against his, as if she's just acquainting herself with that closeness, she can feel that anticipation pulling at her.

He's teasing her. Again.]

Allow me to correct myself, then. [She murmurs somewhat quietly, obsessed with the thought of his mouth. And how much she just might like to feel it.] You frustrate me a lot, which I seem to like.

[ His ears practically perk up. Yes — like him, want him, keep him safe. It's intuitive, falling into his old routine of toying with others' emotions for his own gain. A pity it has to be someone so sweet.

It's clear he'll need to lead, but he doesn't mind. Leading allows him a modicum of control; less chance of becoming adrift in someone else's desires. He rests a hand on her neck, thumb on her pulse point, and closes the gap between their lips. Usually, right about now is when he'd begin to feel disgusted, but he feels pleasantly revulsion-free. He moves on rather quickly from the intimacy of a kiss on the lips to kiss the corner of her mouth, then her jaw. ]

Oh, I'll give you a few more things to like, [ he murmurs against her skin. ] Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you.

[If she's trembling, and certainly she is, then a part of it is simply because she's cold. The other part is because of nerves, because of how easily he can stir her. The latter perhaps not at all surprising given that she has kept others at an arm's distance for... a while. He would have no reason to suspect that she was any different before circumstance brought all of them together.

The truth of that. Well. It's for another time.

He doesn't linger nearly long enough, in her opinion. One kiss will not be enough to sate her. But she can wait. For the moment, she allows herself to indulge in a pleasure she has denied herself, drawing closer just so she can press the line of her frame up along his. His voice makes her want to shudder, something she restraints by the press of her claws into his skin.]

What I want... [She thinks on it, sounding both distant and entranced, but what she follows up with is very genuine. And somehow very her.] I want to hear you and feel you. I want to learn you with my eyes, but not only my eyes. I want to taste you. And... I want you to do all of those things with me as well. I will not take from you anything I'm not willing to give to you.

[ If she wanted to, she wouldn't have to reciprocate a thing. He'd not only let her, but he isn't sure he'd mind — perhaps he'd even prefer it. When she's so passionately extolling the virtues of equality, though, he can't possibly imagine a world in which he explains that. It's sweet, if almost cloyingly so. Most people are selfish deep down, but not, apparently, Nepione. ]

How very poetic. [ He withdraws, trailing his hand down her arm to take her hand and lead her out of the water. ] I expected something more vulgar.

[ Something more specific, at least. Body parts and where she wants them. But 'vulgar' isn't quite her style, is it? She tends towards the more tasteful and flowery. ]

Oh, but the night is young. There's still time for you to say something absolutely depraved.

From me, really?

[Even as he's leading her, her attention is drawn on him, fastened. But to be fair, when a bath has overstayed its welcome, it really doesn't take her much coercion to leave it. Besides, it's what more he says that continues to keep her bound to the moment. She knows very well what she's capable of. If she just lets her walls down a little.]

Let me ask you this, since you know me so well. [She begins as she trails after him.] If I was going to say something depraved, what do you think it would be? Do your best impression of me. [Because it'll give her time to figure out where she wants to keep him preoccupied. Anywhere that isn't water, she supposes. Certainly can't take him back to camp proper.]

[ Astarion falters for a moment, his rehearsed routine thrown off by her question. He can genuinely say that, out of all of the hundreds of people he's bedded, he's never been asked to do an impression. (Well, not that sort of impression, anyway.)

Ever flexible, he picks up again after a moment, grinning impishly. Unfortunately for Nepione, the unexpectedness of her question means he has to rely more on his actual personality than his fabricated fantasy one. ]

'Oh, Astarion. I want you. I need you. Let's incorporate this idol of Selûne into our carnal relations.'

[Despite the way she's flushing so hotly, her laughter is so genuine, so real that she might wonder how long it's been since she's really let herself laugh like that. Burying her face into his shoulder momentarily, she grins.]

No.

[She waits until she can marginally piece herself back together before she continues.]

That's definitely not happening. Well—Perhaps the first part. Definitely not the second. That's like a very hands-on approach to blasphemy. I'm not certain that's what Selûne means when she's spreading messages of love and tolerance. Unless... you're concerned that the rest of you is not as pleasing as an idol of Selûne.

[See, she can definitely make naughty euphemism jokes.]

[ Oh, what a shame. A little blasphemy would really have spiced things up. ]

Trust me, I've had no complaints.

[ A little bit of ego flaring up again. He takes great pride in his appearance — all aspects of his appearance. Selûne can eat her heart out, as far as he's concerned.

He tugs on her hand again, guiding her onto land before urging her down with a hand on her shoulder. There's plenty of things that could be done standing, but he doesn't savor the idea of kneeling in front of someone; he'd rather them both on the ground, where he can at least feel some sense of power. ]

Lay back and let me take care of you, and I'll have you blaspheming yet.

[He earns one more short huff of amusement from her. No, she'll wager he hasn't. Even if he has, he'd never admit to it. He's much too proud. Much too vain. Possessing either of those, however, is not a crime, though she's also inclined to say that there's more to him than both.

She doesn't need a great deal of hinting. At least none more than he's already giving her. She lowers herself, keeping her attention on him as she does, and in the same way he's tugged her hand to encourage her to follow him, she repays him in kind, a careful pull as she modestly posits herself. Or as modestly as she can. Old habits die hard.

"...let me take care of you."

In this instance, it's only carnal in nature, but those words are so foreign. No one else has ever said them to her before. It leaves her with a very curious feeling.]

You're certainly not humble, are you. We shouldn't attract any undue attention.

[ She's right. Humility is for boring, ugly people, neither of which Astarion is.

He looms over her like a predator eyeing its prey, pressing a finger to her lips and saying, ] Then I suppose you'll just have to be very quiet.

[ It's a line — perhaps one of his cheesier ones — but it seems the sort of line to drive a repressed cleric mad with lust, he thinks. Quite frankly, he doesn't give a rat's ass who hears, but she clearly does, and that sort of thing does tend to flame the desires of the inhibited. ]

[She would venture to say that sometimes it's not necessarily what Astarion says that garner's reaction, but rather how he says it. Much the way it does in the moment that finger presses upon her lips. Or maybe it's the way he's looking at her. A combination of all of the things, perhaps. It is possible, likely even, that she is a touch weaker to him than she's thought.

Playfully, she snaps her teeth at his finger, but it lasts only a moment before she puckers her lips instead.]

I will be only as quiet as I feel is necessary.

[She murmurs it, but of course, that likely won't happen. There's a point at which she won't care anymore. Lifting a hand, she reaches for the curve of his neck, tracing claw along its turn with an unspoken appreciation. He's more than just handsome, which she's admitted to already. He's actually quite beautiful. Easier to see it now when she lets herself do so than trying to be wilfully oblivious.

Or ignorant.]

I could be persuaded otherwise. As we've already noticed. Apparently Selûnite discipline crumbles a touch in the face of brazen vampire spawn.

[ He doesn't waste time getting to work, sweeping kisses down her neck, her sternum. Her body is flushed with heat, a not unpleasant feeling against his own eternally cool skin. There's something novel — perhaps almost charming — about the living; they're warm, messy. Hard to believe he used to be the same, once. ]

Oh, a few contrite prayers and your lady will forgive your transgressions, [ he says before pressing his mouth to the plane of her stomach.

That's all gods care about, isn't it? Showing proper reverence? In truth, Astarion thinks Selûnite discipline — and any other form of religious self-denial — is a load of crock, but he doesn't dare spoil the moment with that opinion. ]

[It really takes little for him to draw shudders out of her. It would be very easy to lose her focus in him. In the feeling itself. That is likely the point, to make someone like her stop thinking so much.]

...Do... you think so?

[It barely leaves her. Quiet and hushed. She's clearly distracted by sensation, the little ripples that he's left atop an otherwise undisturbed, pristine self. There is something about the sight of him, the press of lips atop her skin. Her hands draw down against her frame and with some care, she threads one's hold into the curls of his pale hair, as white as a full moon. Her other blindly traces the line of his jaw before she carefully dusts touch along the edge of his ear.

It comes as no surprise to her that she wants to actively touch him. That is the way she is. Touch is an important thing to her, though he would surely laugh if she said any such thing.]

[ Her touch is very gentle, nonthreatening. It doesn't feel bad at all. He doesn't quite know what to do with that information, so he files it away uninspected. There will be time for navel-gazing later.

For now, he continues his journey towards his destination, splaying a hand out over the surface of her stomach as he trails down her hip, her thigh, dragging his fangs just lightly enough over her skin to excite her without exciting his hunger. ]

I think I'm the only one who needs to hear your pleas right now.

[ Very humble indeed. ]

Ah—

[Her breath softly catches. There it is. A little flutter of anxiety wrapped in pleasure. Alarmingly, she likes the sensation of his teeth more than she feels she ought to. Like a little threat that isn't a threat at all, but she almost wishes it was. She shifts beneath the attention, not nearly enough to disturb him. Just enough that he deserves to know that he has an effect on her. He's earned that, at the very least.]

...Astarion.

[Simply because she wants to say it. It sounds lovelier like this when she does, coloured by something that is not quite affection, but somewhere between that and desire. A sort of passion that she's more comfortable keeping to herself. She draws her lower lip beneath her teeth for just a moment, trying to ignore the way the colour in her features deepens.

She leaves the one hand in his hair. The other traces touch up over his wrist and across the back of his hand that he's spread atop her stomach, gently gripping. If she were braver, she'd slide her fingers between his, but not yet. Not yet. Humble or not, he makes her want.]

Overflow / Open Post

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)