#i recommend listenting to rachmaninov in general but you know | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

poetickitten · 7 months

Text

Y'all want some... Astarion porn?

Title: In the quiet night

Tags: romance, smut, lots of feelings and hand-wrapping and noises and stuff, explicit, argument, slightly angry sex, mention of use of alcohol

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav (both POVs)

Under the cut, because, y'know, porn.

warning: emotional breakdown in the tags

ok, so here it goes. hope ya enjoy!! :D

The night is turning dim in the hour before dawn. A canopy of stars stretches above, their distant light casting a gentle, ethereal glow over the campsite. Tavir is lying nestled in her bedroll, curled up in a ball, snug and warm. The muffled sounds of laughter and distant music swirling through the air from the lakeside are punctuated by the crackling of the dying campfire. The flickering flames dance like ancient spirits, their warmth still offering comfort as they slowly dwindle.

Drowsy as she feels from a little too much wine, her mind won’t allow Tavir to slip into peaceful slumber quite yet. Unacknowledged during the last few days, unbidden images of Astarion’s face emerged in her mind as soon as she closed her eyes; the outline of his lips in a wicked grin when he suggested she lie with him, the haughty look in his proud eyes when she refused; the way the moonlight caught in his hair tonight whenever she dared to steal a glance during the party; the way they were drawing circles around each other, watching each other out of the corners of their eyes. He must have found it hard tonight, amidst the many people mingling, chattering, and celebrating, to be the sole focus of attention and satisfy his seemingly unquenchable desire for shallow adoration. And so she saw, every now and then, a glimpse of his face when he thought that no one was looking. She was, and still is, inexplicably struck by the absence of the usual layer of callous nonchalance and almost indecent self-regard in his expression. It hits her, now that she is free to search her own mind for the cause of this unsettling restlessness, that something has been different for a while now…

Tavir tosses and turns for several minutes, trying to quieten the nervous movement of her fingers playing idly with a loose thread on her wool covered pillow, working through some lingering uncertainty.

What in the nine hells is going on? She told him: ‘No.’ And for good reason. ‘Too close.’, she said, and meant it. Too presumptuous, too cocksure of himself, too theatrical – and impossibly irritating. And she is too impatient for that. Having lived for years with no company but her own hasn’t exactly made her more willing to indulge people’s vanities and little manipulations. So why then this gleeful feeling at the thought of his face? His lips soft, close to hers. His voice, low and urgent in her ear, hands at her neck-

Suddenly aware that her heart is thudding, her eyes snap open and she can feel her brow furrowing. She stares angrily into the dim light cast by the dying embers behind her. Then, a low chuckle meets her ears.

“Aww, what’s the matter?”, the now familiar, drawling voice punctuates the otherwise peaceful atmosphere, “Bad dream? People making too much noise?”

Astarion is sitting on the ground not ten feet from her, lounging against an old fallen tree trunk, bottle in hand.

Tavir sits up, the warm cover falling from her shoulders, and looks back at him, annoyed and embarrassed. Her quick mind has a biting remark half formed, though she is still feeling a little woozy, when she notices the forced expression on his face: Sour-- trying, and almost failing, to fall back into his usual sneering tone of voice.

She stares.

“What?” He says somewhat aggressively, then leans his head back against the tree, eyes still fixed on her face. “Am I sitting too close?”, he scoffs, lips pulling up in a sardonic leer, failing to hide the genuine bitterness in his voice, although she can hardly believe it.

No one is watching now. His usually haughty expression still isn’t back. Instead – is she seeing this right? – the bitterness in his words is palpable.

“Why aren’t you with the others?”, Tavir asks, ignoring his rude tone.

He shrugs one shoulder in a non-committal gesture and averts his eyes.

She stares a moment longer.

He doesn’t answer.

“Why wake me, then?”, she snaps, about to turn her back to him.

“Oh, excuse me, my dear.”, voice dripping with sarcasm, “I forgot. I shall maintain a proper distance from now on.” He gets up, a little unsteady on his feet. But he doesn’t walk away.

They glare at each other. His thinly veiled criticism of her demand to keep some distance between them stings. What right does he have to question her wish? All newly blossoming tenderness for him quickly drains from her mind, to be replaced by the desire to gain the upper hand. After all, she left well alone. Every time they crossed each other’s paths at the party, she circled back, avoiding him. So, he noticed.

After a few moments he turns as if to walk away, but then reels back round and hisses at her. “Don’t think I didn’t realize what you were doing tonight! Discovered some new-found interest in the toy you threw aside yesterday, did you?”

“What?”, she blurts out, indignant, feeling somewhat trapped. “Don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy.” She puts venom in her voice. “I simply told you ‘No’. Hardly my problem if- “

“If what?”, he snaps.

In her anger and embarrassment, Tavir can’t quite bring herself to say it. Naming this strange thing between them would mean acknowledging it to him and how is she supposed to do that, when-

She splutters irritably, searching for an excuse, better yet, a defence, but he gets there first.

“Oh, perish the thought, darling. How silly of me to delude myself- “, he is back to his usual self, snide and aloof, but the anger still visible in the crease between his brows. “How could I ever presume that her majesty would deign- “. He trails off, stands apparently undecided for a moment, then walks back to the fallen tree trunk and slumps down on the ground, bottle raised to his lips.

He looks so genuinely hurt that Tavir can’t help but stare. She feels a strange remorse twisting her face and turns away. The tenderness, some sweet longing is still there, underneath the anger and embarrassment.

A few moments pass in silence.

He caught her unawares. She feels an unfamiliar vulnerability pulling at the corners of her mind. She tries to push it back beneath the surface, refusing to admit, even to herself, what is truly bothering her.

“Tavir.” He speaks her name in a voice so soft she wouldn’t even recognize it as his, if she didn’t know he was the only person close enough for her to hear.

She doesn’t look up. “What?”

He repeats her name, “Tavir.”, quiet and intent.

She half-turns and peeks at him over one shoulder.

“Come here.”

Tavir sits up, looking at him fully once more.

He beckons. His eyes are half closed, head leaning back, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.

Tavir can’t supress a small grin of her own. But she still hesitates and quickly composes her face. There’s a gleam in his eyes now, a little wicked perhaps, but not dishonest.

She can’t help but feel a little gleeful. Her blood is still hot with the rush of anger and defiance, and it does nothing to calm this strange new desire for him.

She slowly gets to her feet and with a few steps has closed the distance between them, her torn linen skirt swaying around her hips a little more than is strictly necessary. She steps over his legs, offensively close, and plants her feet on either side of him. Astarion looks up at her, seemingly unperturbed. Tavir fixes him with a haughty look in her eyes, almost leering. “I hate when you act the cocky schoolboy, you know.”, she says, some trace of bile still in her voice. She places the ball of her foot on his bent knee and pushes down. “It’s so…”, she pauses, searching for the right words, and extends one hand down to him, allowing him to keep her steady as she lowers herself onto his lap, “…disingenuous.” She places one hand on the side of his face and moves her lips close to his. His breath catches.

“I don’t care for these antics of yours.”, she goes on, slowly and intent, voice more tender now. “This ridiculous façade – “. She takes his hand in hers and places a tentative kiss on it, measuring for his reaction. “I’ve seen enough of that side of you.” Her thumb grazes his cheekbone. “When you asked me to lie with you- “. His eyes are darting back and forth between hers. “- I said no, and I meant it.” She pauses. “I don’t want the façade. Astarion-” Her gaze wanders along the outline of his lips, then back up to his eyes, warmth creeping up her face. “I want to see you- “, she readies herself, “-bared.” His nostrils flare and he takes a heavy breath. But almost immediately his eyes harden a little, one eyebrow pulling up. His lips part as if to speak, but Tavir withdraws her hand from his face. Holding his hand in both of hers now, she turns it over and, in an adoring gesture, she places several more kisses on it, soft lips ghosting over his palm. Then she fixes him with a small smirk and takes two fingers in her mouth, sucking gently.

His other hand jerks up and grabs her thigh. He just manages to supress a growl. Tavir takes her time, fixes him with an insolent glint in her eyes, lets him feel the warmth of her tongue. Then, smiling up from under her lashes, guides his wet fingers down between her legs.

***

Astarion can feel the warmth of her body seeping into his blood. She places his fingers between the soft folds of her cunt and starts rolling her hips against him. He groans at the sensation, the brazen bare facedness of her lust. Then, the cheeky grin fades from her face. She closes her eyes and presses her lips tight, revelling in her own pleasure, her own mask slowly slipping.

She has put his own desire for her perfectly into words- to see her bared. What until a few days before was intended as a feat of self-preservation has, much to his astonishment, been turning into genuine desire. A little taken aback at her refusal to play along with his all-too-well practiced routine, it was only afterwards that he began to notice the languid movement of her hips, the cheeky glint in her eyes. But over the past few days, his attraction to her has been turning sour. ‘Too close.’ The words still sting. They made him realize how worryingly deep his little infatuation has become. He was slightly revolted at his own churlishness when she reminded him just a few minutes ago of his ridiculous pining.

But now, Astarion is not quite sure how, their little quarrel has brought her close after all, into his arms.

She leans her forehead against his. The smell of sweet wine fills his head, and he means to kiss the taste from her parted lips, but Tavir withdraws. His hips want to jerk up to touch her, rush against her. She digs her nails into the back of his hand between her legs and hums with pleasure, then wraps both arms around him, her body moving closer. He tries to kiss her again, hold her tight. His free hand grapples at her back, but she averts her face. Why is she pulling away from him? He can think of nothing now but the need to be closer; to feel her squirming beneath him, press his body against hers, only dimly aware how easy, how natural it feels to keep his mind from falling into its old habit of wandering. A low moan escapes his lips at the thought of pushing himself into her. He searches her face, seeking connection and drinking in her expression contorted with lust; but her eyes are closed tight with the obvious pressure building within her. He can feel her warmth over his aching cock, her wetness on his hand where he is caressing her. His fingers slip easily into her, and she gives a little squeak that finally and completely dissolves any will he had left to not lose himself in her completely. Struggling for some restraint, control, out of habit, Astarion feels his brows furrowing. When Tavir hides her face in his neck and he feels her tongue slipping over his neck, he reaches for the string holding his trousers, meaning to free his straining cock. He will feel her against him, one way or another. She sits up on her knees and pulls down his trousers. He grabs her neck, a bit too harshly perhaps, and holds his cupped hand in front of her face.

“Spit.”, he mutters, voice hoarse. Her eyes glint, dark with lust, and she complies. He fixes her with his gaze, takes himself in hand behind her back and begins to stroke up and down his length.

***

Tavir is ready to melt at the look in her lover’s eyes. The heady mix of prideful glee and lustful oblivion on Astarion’s usually so composed face sends her reeling with pleasure.

She has him there.

She reaches behind her, takes him in hand and slowly slides onto his cock. His hips snap up against her. Unwilling, or unable, to give her full control, he grabs her hips and pushes her down against him. For a moment, her instinct overrules her faltering resolve to not give every bit of intimacy so freely. She grapples with the sensation of him filling her body, filling her head, and she moves close to his face. His eyes soften suddenly. They stay like this, locked into each other’s eyes, until the feeling of him straining against her walls becomes too much. Even with the overwhelming waves of release washing over her, she cannot move her gaze from his when he comes.

The tension leaving her body, she slumps into his arms, head blissfully empty and a little woozy again. When she sits up and looks at him again, there is a yearning in his eyes, soft and round, that quite disarms her. She feels the urge to kiss him, finally, sink into the softness that comes after; she feels that all her pretence is stripped from her.

And then something snaps back into place.

She hasn’t even realized that the sounds of distant music and chatter are still in the air around them. The others are nearby, a sharp reminder that it isn’t only the two of them here.

The two of them?

What does that even mean now? Even with the feeling of his warmth still inside her, she still cannot quite acknowledge how much she yearns to give herself to him. He is searching her face hungrily, questions in the small lines around his eyes.

She feels besieged.

Tavir averts her eyes and gets to her feet.

She forces herself not to notice the puzzled look on Astarion’s face. She only notices out of the corner of her eyes that he is scrambling a little where he is still sitting, trying to pull his trousers up.

She can still feel the soft tingle of his cum dribbling down the inside of her thighs.

Tavir means to step to the side and return to her bedroll perhaps, or even to walk towards the edge of the forest. Just get away. Anywhere, now.

But Astarion grabs her by the wrist, and she turns back, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Tavir.”, he almost whispers, voice so gentle again, so earnest, she wants to stomp her foot in frustration.

Reluctant, she lets him pull her back. He holds on to her waist, holding her firmly in place, and looks up at her.

“Stay.”, he says quietly. “Stay with me tonight."

At last, Tavir gives in.

He has her there.

29 notes · View notes