The tieflings insist on having a party to celebrate the group's successful genocide of a significant portion of goblin-kind - er, victory .
Aysla, itching ever since she weaned herself off the bottle, is ready to do drugs, fuck, get into a fight, or ideally all three should the opportunity arise. It's been awhile since she's been to a party.
Karlach and Shadowheart sit on the floor of her tent as she fixes her makeup in the mirror. Both wear accessories clearly thrust upon them by their owner. Karlach wears a black leather corset top a size too small, and Shadowheart's trademark eyeliner sparkles uncharacteristically.
"I know Dammon is going to be there," bemoans Karlach, who had been crushing hard since their extremely brief first meeting, just before raiding the goblin camp, "but I can't do much about it, now can I? I can't even shake his hand, let alone ride him to the Faerun and back."
"Oh, Kar-Kar..." Aysla says without looking. "Have you no creativity?"
Astarion pretends not to listen, but the tent is made out of tent, and sound does carry. Wyll and Gale attempt to look politely distracted in front of their own respective tents, but their ears perk up as well. Lae'zel, sharpening a knife, raises her eyebrows.
"Just talk him through it. Flirt with him a little, feed him drinks - then take him to a nice little patch of dirt," she tug at her shirt seductively, "and say, 'Oooooh, it's sooo hot, Dammon, let me get more comfortable! Why Dammon, you're so naughty - stroking yourself in front of me? That's a good boy - just like that!' Do you think it would sizzle if he came into your mouth?"
She mimes lascivious movements - a lot of bending and rolling of hips and grasping of her own un-generous breasts.
Shadowheart nods solemnly, contemplating the words as if they were discussing war strategy.
Karlach doesn't look so convinced. "What if he doesn't get - you know, inspired ?"
"I sincerely doubt that. But if you find yourself lacking in confidence, come find me," she says, her smile gleaming wickedly, holding up a small velvet sack filled with iridescent powder.
"You seem to have a lot of experience," Shadowheart remarks. "No offense. I just mean, how are you so confident?"
"None taken," Aysla responds, putting away her makeup. "My stint in chain vacation a la Mister Thumbs was sort of a hybrid imprisonment-slash... - offering to guests, if you catch my meaning. Though I can't say I was exactly a precious virgin before that, either."
Silence ensues. All party members outside the tent look at fixed points on the ground.
"But look at me now. The most person you've ever met!" Aysla cheeses at them.
"You were trafficked?" Shadowheart says, slightly shocked.
"Oh, no," she says, reflexively. "Trafficking is, like, slavery."
They all watch as the gears click in her head.
"Well shit," Aysla remarks casually.
She decides to double down on the drugs.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Aysla, for all the confusing mess her life has been thus far, knows one rule to be true: Druids can fucking party.
There is a group of them dancing by Astarion's tent. He's drinking the bad wine like it's a lifeline, hoping that it will imbue him with enough joy to make it through this party.
And then he sees her. She prances up to his side, facing the inebriated group. She is looking at the gangly young druid man closest to them.
"You're a funny little man - have you ever played Knife-y Fingers?" she says, a gleam in her eye that says that she's in a fun mood. A look that Astarion suspects they should all fear.
"Mm? I don't know if I want to," the tipsy druid manages. His friends around him wear expressions ranging from amused and intrigued to afraid.
"Oh," Aysla gasps. "Are you a little bitch?"
A barking laugh rips out of Astarion. "I was wondering when the party would start."
Aysla turns to him, grabs him by the back of the head and plants a kiss firmly on his mouth.
Despite his shock, he instinctively kisses her back. At that, her other arm flies to his waist, and she tilts him backwards into a theatrical dip before breaking the kiss.
He's still a little stunned when she releases him and takes the velvet pouch from her pocket, pouring a messy line of dragon spice onto his forearm and railing it, slender fingers lightly holding his wrist.
She gives her head a little shake before addressing the group.
"Alright everyone, this is a fucking party, so let me set the rules," she says. "One person invisible at all times. If you manage to stab them, they have to drink. "
She begins to mime stabbing the deeply intimidated druid lad, before striding off towards the center of the party. A menace, Astarion thinks. He smiles widely as she bounces away.
Many of the tieflings are eager to thank her, and she's eager to offer them snuff powder, dragon spice, or a dance. She straddles a line somewhere between the life of the party and an absolute terror to behold.
Within an hour or so, there are various tieflings puking in the bushes, defeated by the drinking games she had coerced them into playing. Astarion tries to keep eyes on her as she flits around the bustling camp, but she's hard to track. One moment, she's teaching Shadowheart a dance that looks like it belongs in the confines of a brothel, next she is atop Wylls shoulders, chanting "Drink! Drink! Drink!" to a poor tiefling lad who lost a round of King's Cup.
Soon enough, the party gradually calms, and so does her mood. The dragon spice ran out fairly quickly with how liberal she was forcing it down her new friends' noses, and its half life is short. The tieflings and druids slowly decamp, and Aysla engages with the remaining revelers.
First she chats to Gale, who is having a great time sharing his magical tips with the prospective tiefling wizards.
"You sure know how to throw a party!" he remarks.
"Well, Shoes, if we're to throw a party, we're not going to fuck around," she replies.
"Can I - can I show you something?" he asks tentatively.
Aysla immediately becomes guarded. If he was perhaps the only other person in camp, she would bed him, just to see if he surprises her, but Astarion looms in the back of her mind. She's not promised to him by any means, but everyone else in camp looks like minced meat to her next to him, a feast for a king.
She sees Lae'zel strolling up, and she takes the opportunity to excuse herself. "Ah, Lae'zel! Sorry Gale, you'll have to show me later, I'm afraid. I did promise I would speak with Lae'zel about something urgently."
To Aysla's surprise, Lae'zel makes a pass even more boldly. "Aysla, I must say that I originally thought you witless - a ditsy, drunken fool."
Aysla raises her eyebrows. She assumes a compliment is coming, but it seems to be the end of the thought. "Mm, I see. Well, great talk?"
"You've earned my respect, now - and more still. You're efficient and dominant, both in battle and out," she says, gesturing to the camp. "You would likely tear the horn off one dragon to plunge into another."
Aysla did not know dragons had horns, but she supposes it would be an efficient way to kill two of them.
"And you're not the fool I supposed, either - your scent alone is enough to make my neck sweat and my hairs stand on edge," Lae'zel continues. "I will be plain: I want to taste you. Perhaps tonight, later."
Aysla is sure that she would walk away from that entanglement with bruises.
Although, the title of 'Camp Heartbreaker' could work to her advantage - if she pitted them all against each other, fighting for her favor...
But, no. Too risky, and she knows what she wants, for tonight at least. Astarion was so gentle. She'd never had 'gentle' before, and she wishes to return to it.
And she knows, for the first time since she can remember, what she does not want - and it is to return to any bed where she would be berated, hurt, or otherwise bossed around. Not again.
"I'm flattered, Lae'zel!" she says. "Can I think on it?"
"Do not keep me waiting." Lae'zel looks annoyed and demanding, and Aysla doesn't like that at all.
"On second thought, I'll be honest and tell you that I'm not interested. You may have better in persuading someone with a little less backbone than I to warm your bedroll - perhaps Gale! I'm sure he'd be more receptive to being ordered around like a serf."
She turns heel then, muttering to herself. "...Tell me what to do -"
She catches Astarion watching her as she departs from Lae'zel. She rolls her eyes for him to see as she walks away from her, towards the druid leader. Approaching Halsin, she wonders if he'll make three-for-three. Though his eyes do roam her a little too unhurriedly, she notes that he doesn't blatantly offer to bed her tonight.
It's a bit of a relief - as indiscriminate as she usually is, his towering form may actually take him out of the running, Astarion notwithstanding. His silhouette is too reminiscent of the man who haunts her nightmares. She thinks she would panic if he touched her. But she remains warm and polite as they discuss his plans, cordially accepting his request to join them as they head into the shadowlands.
Coming down from her high and emotionally drained, Aysla has a dangerous thought. She wonders if it would be a terribly bad idea to break her fast tonight - just one last night, drunk out of her mind, as a little reward. Would it send her spiraling back into dependency? Possibly. Does she want to anyway? Undoubtedly. Her feet begin to move her in the direction of the remaining liquor. As she turns, she nearly slams into Astarion, who she hadn't noticed approaching.
"Oh! You're a welcome sight. How are you enjoying," she says, waving her hands, "our little celebration, or whatever?"
"Painfully dull," he replies, right on her wavelength. "And where were you headed off to in such a hurry?"
"Oh, literally anywhere else," she states. "Everyone's trying to figure out who they're going to lay and the drugs are tapped. I'd rather be waterboarded than stay any longer."
"What luck! I was just seeking you out for the very same. Not the lay, to be clear - just looking for a willing subject to practice my water torture technique. I was ever so inspired by your performance yesterday." He smiles wickedly. "Loviator's blessings upon you."
"And also with you," she says. Is she still high, or has he somehow gotten even more handsome since she last looked at him? So fucking handsome. And funny. And clever.
Her mind wanders. He's reading her face, and she looks far off.
"Did the Gith meanie hurt you, darling? You'll find no such cruelty in my bed," he offers. "You will come to me tonight, won't you?"
"I've got nothing left on my agenda now, as it stands," she answers plainly.
"And abandon your party? The belle of the ball, so eager to flee?" he teases. "What a show you put on. I was on the edge of my seat waiting for your next debauched initiative."
"My next debauched initiative will either involve you, or five bottles of wine alone in my tent, I'm afraid," she says. "I'm all out of party favors to keep me in a festive mood, and you're the only one I'll tolerate any longer."
"Lucky stars," he says with a sly grin. "All your attention, just for me? I hope the rest of your devotees won't jump off the nearest cliff when they find your evening has been claimed."
They usually keep their trysts sneaky, under the cover of night. Astarion wonders if she'll ask him to wait a few minutes before following her into the forest - appearances, and all that. But she just smirks and grabs his hand, parading him straight through the middle of camp. He feels the jealous stares on his back, and finds he doesn't much care to keep up appearances anymore, anyway.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
At the nearest patch of grass, barely away from the camp, they are immediately on each other like horny teenagers.
She's not sure who starts the kiss, but they're gasping into each others' mouths as if their lives depend on it.
"Mmm, we're in dangerous territory, lover," she murmurs into his mouth, undoing his belt. "What number is this now? Before long you'll be weeping and asking me 'what are we'."
His pants are down in a flash - she wastes no time - and then she's pulling off his shirt, and soon, he's naked, kicking off the undergarments pooled at his ankles.
In a second, she starts pulling off her own clothes.
He's out of his clothes, stark naked, and he closes in on her, looking at her hungrily.
"Well I can hardly stay away, can I? Your body whispers temptation - as if the gods made you, just to ruin me..." he says cheesily, lust still in his eyes through his amused smile. His hands fall to her hips, lightly resting on the swell of her ass, pulling her closer to him.
"Ha!" she chimes, beaming. "Do go on - that can't be the best you can do."
"Darling, the sounds of the tieflings' cheers are nothing, compared to how I crave to hear the sound of my name, cried from your lips," he waxes.
She's smiling, and then suddenly her lips part, and her eyes become half-lidded. She's distracted from their banter by the feeling of the length of him, pressing against her naked abdomen.
She gives him a final quick, soft kiss, and wordlessly drops to her knees.
He looks a little surprised, but intrigued.
Does this man not get any head, between all his 'luring'? she thinks, noticing his expression. Poor baby. Let me.
She takes his cock in her hand, with a little thrill in her heart. It will be nice, for once, to blow someone who deserves her talents - someone who, she realizes with a lurch, she actually likes .
So many times, she's felt degraded with a cock in her mouth and simply powered through - for what end? She went through the motions, feigned enjoying it, even, and hated herself afterwards. They would tug on her hair, slam her head down too quickly, making her gag and cry; but the worst part was the talking. Men were so emboldened to say horrific, terrible things when their dicks were in someone's mouth. She wishes that rather than wait for when his hand was over her mouth, she had had the good sense to bite Davidus during one of those times.
But she pushes the memories away - Astarion is in front of her. ' Astarion;' she thinks , 'good; nice; safe;'
She gets the sense that he doesn't think of himself that way, and she would never tell him to his face how much his kindness means to her - but after sampling more men than she has count of, she knows that a combination of handsome-funny-clever was rarely found without -cruel.
She locks eyes with him as she takes one long lick from the base to the tip of him. She licks once more, from the middle of the shaft to just under the head. His cock is thick, bigger than average, gorgeous, and velvety on her tongue.
She takes the head into her wet mouth, humming around it. She looks up at him, opening her mouth wider, and slowly taking the length of him all the way to the back of her throat.
She fights the urge to gag, holding there for a moment with the head of his cock pressing against the back of her throat.
She sees him look down at her, then toss his head back, whispering "Fuck, gods."
She continues to work him, slowly bobbing up and down. She swirls her tongue around the head, and uses her hand as an extension of her mouth.
After his entire length is slick with her spit, she pulls her mouth away with a pop, and continues to stroke him with graceful, expert movements of her hand and wrist. The squelching sound is pornographic.
She looks at him again, and his eyes are on her, as she tilts her head, moving towards his balls to give them a delicate lick. She lavishes them with careful attention, ever so gently, before popping one of them delicately into her soft, wet mouth, humming again for him.
The hand that isn't stroking him drifts down to her clit. She's so desperate for touch now, she wonders if she could come just like this. That would be another first - coming from blowing him might be a little embarrassing, as if she doesn't feel overly obsessed already.
He's groaning, and whispering expletives, and then he's kneeling down, interrupting her work, to put his arms on her shoulders, guiding her to lay with him on the ground.
"I wasn't finished..." she whines.
He lays back, staring at her desperately, propped up on his elbows, and she crawls up between his legs, intent on returning to her task. And she does, swan diving her head back down to gorge herself on him.
"Please, Aysla, agh, let me fuck you," He groans, as she bobs up and down, relentless. "I'm not going to be able to last much longer, my love."
'"My love",' she thinks. 'I like that one.'
Rewarding him, she moans into his cock, her sucking unabated.
"Oh gods," he says quietly, warning her like a gentleman, "Aysla, fuck... I'm going to come."
His tone is slightly cautionary - as if he thought she would pull away?
But mother didn't raise a little bitch. She makes horridly eager sounds, encouraging him, still bobbing away, her mouth a hot, wet vacuum, her face a mess of her own spit mixed with his precum.
After several seconds, she feels him jerk against her tongue, and Astarion is groaning. 'Gods I love that sound,' she thinks, and she continues her motion, sucking, swallowing as she goes, until the last pulse of his pleasure escapes him. She sucks once more, languidly, cleaning him off.
She sits back, wiping the slobber from her face, and makes a show of licking her lips, having swallowed all of his seed greedily.
He looks at her, reverence in his eyes.
She beams back at him. 'That's the look I like to see... my "love'',' she thinks.
She falls into his embrace, laying her head on his chest.
"Gods," is all he says, sighing, then kissing the top of her head and wrapping an arm around her.
"I tried my best to give you the 'sound of your name, cried from my lips,' but my mouth was preoccupied," she sighs, drawing circles on his chest.
He laughs at that, and it fills her little approval-seeking heart with a beat of joy.
"Just give me a moment, love," he says, closing his eyes, completely blissed out.
She raises her head to look at him confusedly. He opens his eyes to meet hers.
"I'm not done with you, yet," he clarifies, "you wicked thing."
He shifts, flipping so that he is above her, hovering over her. His cock is still half-hard, and he coaxes her legs open with one of his.
He kisses her, firmly on the mouth, then drifts to her neck, placing open mouth kisses along the length of it, and under her ear.
"Did you think you could come here and bewitch me tonight?" he murmurs, raising his head to look at her. "Suck me dry, and leave me hopeless for you?"
'I mean, yes,' she thinks. 'That was more or less exactly the plan.'
"I still want to hear you crying for me, sweet thing," he breathes, so close to her face. Her breath catches.
He reaches a hand down to find her dripping, slick and warm.
"Oh, you're so wet for me, my sweet, needy darling - I can't leave you like this, can I?"
As he speaks, looking directly into her eyes, he slides two fingers inside her, hooking them and teasing her, so slowly. Too slowly.
"A- Astarion," she says, rocking her hips.
"Yes, just like that, my love. My sweet, needy, Aysla."
"Yes," she cries, a little too enthusiastically, at being called his . It doesn't feel possessive, or bad, when it's him. She thinks she might like to be his - it wouldn't feel like being a thing, or an object; it would be something special - like a treasure, like a jewel -
"Oh, you liked that, did you? Is that what you want, my precious little thing?" He drawls, probing her still. "To be mine?"
"Fuck," she say quickly, "yes, yes, yes - Astarion."
Desperate, shameless, she kisses him, whimpering into his mouth. "Mm," she gasps between kisses, "Astarion," she cries his name again, just like he said he wanted, with unfettered adoration.
She has been told the stereotypical 'say my name,' line before, and she would, reluctantly - she would say it feeling coerced, feeling subordinate. And when she refused, she was choked, or slapped or spit on until she relinquished.
Astarion never told her to say his name, he had only said he would like it. So she kept saying it, and would keep saying it, like an offering, a gift.
"Yes? What do you want, little love? Do you want me to fuck you, now?" he says, his eyes full of lust, his hand still teasing her.
"Yes - I want you to fuck me, please, Astarion, my beautiful Astarion," she hisses wantonly, one hand on his cheek.
His brow knits, looking almost as desperate as she now, as if he hadn't just come several minutes ago. He withdraws his fingers.
Offering them to her, she leans forward to suck herself off of his pruned fingertips, holding his gaze.
He watches her in wonder, sucking his fingers clean, just like she'd done with his cock just before, and he wastes no time reaching down to guide himself into her with his other hand.
He slides in effortlessly, and hisses through his teeth.
The world goes still as he pushes into her until he reaches her core. Once he's inside of her fully, he pauses, watching her expression with lidded eyes and mouth slightly parted, and presses just a bit further into her cervix before continuing his long, slow strokes.
She'd like to die like this, she thinks.
Staring back at him, it feels so dirty, so intimate; the slowness of it, his deliberate strokes, and the lewdness of how easily he's slipping in and out of her while looking at her so intently.
It's too good to call it fucking - it's something else; something nearly transcendent.
Her mind goes blank - the sounds she's making are shameless at this point, and he's moaning and cursing into her hair. Then he lifts his head and stares into her eyes again, looking even more wild now, as he pushes his cock into her over and over, gradually growing faster. Their joining makes horribly wet, rude sounds, and he doesn't look away from her adoring eyes as she whimpers.
He slams into, a little harder, causing her to gasp and clench tightly around him.
At the feeling of her squeezing him, he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back down next to hers with a broken moan.
His face in her hair, he continues to pump into her, more quickly now, and his hand reaches down to rub circles on her clit.
She whimpers her approval at the touch, and presses her lips to his neck. Her lips trail kisses up his neck, and she offers up her moans and gasps, just into his ear.
"Thank you, my love," she whispers sweetly, copying her new favorite of his pet names. "Thank you," she gasp, "I love how you fuck me. I love how you feel inside of me."
His breath stutters. She plants kisses across his ear, still whimpering to him.
She gives the edge of his ear a delicate lick, and he whispers expletives into her hair.
He slams into her with wild abandon now, and she feels herself about to come undone when she takes the side of his earlobe into her mouth and sucks, nibbling it gently.
His hands shoot down to grip either side of her hips.
He cries out brokenly. She reaches the peak of her ecstasy just as he slams into her a final time, hands still holding her hips tightly as he cums, as if to empty himself as deeply inside of her as he can. She feels his cock shudder as the waves of her pleasure subside.
She keeps her hand tangled in his hair, and he slumps on top of her.
"Am I crushing you?" he murmurs.
"Mm, mm" she shakes her head, with a sigh, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
It's a crushing embrace, but she doesn't feel claustrophobic in this position - not with him. She realizes, novelly, that she's certain he'd move if she requested. So she relaxes under his wight, his head beside her own, his body covering hers completely.
She waits for the moment when he will tense, to get up and leave, but he doesn't. Astarion's bones are jelly, having come twice in the woman beneath him. If that didn't solidify his place, then perhaps this would - or at least that's the reason he tells himself as to why he chooses to melt into her embrace; purely strategic.
The last thing he does, before sleep takes him, is breathe in deeply, the smell of her hair.