bakerstreet | shipping picture promts

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shipping picture promts

shipping picture prompts

o1. comment with your character and prefs in a top level.
o2. reply to others, complete with pictures and gifs!
o3. cook up something shippy from those inspirational ingredients.

link 'em:

embed 'em:

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It’s always so lovely, unraveling.

If there’s something to be shamelessly admired at face value in the act itself, Astarion would name himself a perpetual admirer. He sinks his face into the maned fur at Raine’s neck as they come undone, feeling every choking gasp, every hitched breath in intimate, beautiful detail.

The mess made is just a lovely little addition. Slick heat, and warm to the touch where it drips down steadily against his fingers in the aftermath. Flattery in the most physical form.

“How very pretty,” purred just as smoothly as Raine’s own prior effort, low and lulling. “And yet I think I’d appreciate an encore.”

Grip slow as it meanders, slipping high to rest at the edge of Raine’s hip, twisting their posture around. Or— at the very least, suggesting the idea via touch alone.

A low, crackling purr rumbles through them, hearing his voice, only for the sound to cease as Raine gasps slightly, shivering hard when they're called pretty. Every nerve rushes to flood them with barely diluted pleasure, knowing that he finds them appealing even looking so inhuman.

Shivering with aftershocks, they aren't quite done yet - Astarion's touch is a flame, only igniting their wick all the quicker. Though sluggish, they move as gently bid, uncertain exactly where he wants them but happy to comply. Their limbs quiver, heart pounding as they become increasingly aware of their current state. Raine watches him for instruction, quieter and pliant now that the edge of their lust has been sated for now. Their mismatched gaze is hazy at best, but there's still fire simmering close to the surface - a raw want that also sings through every muscle in their body.

"I can... accommodate that desire. Several-fold. Show me what sort of encore you desire, and you will have it."

Raine is confident in their ability to fend him off, if necessary. In truth, they do wonder if he'd ever feel keen on tasting the blood of a dhampir like them. Or if the animal in them might somehow taint the experience. They don't pry deeply into his affairs; they aren't Raine's business so long as Astarion treats them well enough. The lack of commentary speaks volumes in their night-to-night activities.

It's almost a dance, in essence, the way Astarion guides them by the subtleties of touch, the way they respond to it with next to nothing in the way of overt steering. The wall behind Raine is only a few steps away, and it's through strides built on the practiced ease of fluid movement that Astarion fits them to it: chest pressed flat to its cooler span, his own pale hands bracketing slighter hips, profile set and scuffing somewhere high between their shoulderblades in attentive comfort— as though he'd been the one drunk on catnip to begin with.

Or perhaps, knowing vampiric tendencies, blood.

In truth, it's only lurid attention that has him so settled deep within the throes of heady bliss, damp scent of lilac pervasive as his hold shifts, as he brushes aside Rhaine's tail and fits himself— feverishly hot compared to his usual chill— to them with only the faintest pause for prelude. A delicate half-beat where touch, ever so slight, eclipses everything else.

If Rhaine's impatient, of course, they're more than welcome to rush. To settle their weight across that point of contact without bothering to wait—

But it won't be Astarion that breaks that tension. Not yet.

Raine growls at him, soft, and indeed impatient, as Astarion pushes them to the wall, the shorter fur covering their chest unable to protect the delicate skin from the chill. They shiver and growl as he boldly touches their tail, however fleeting, and they're quick to brace their hands to the wall for support, close to their head - in easy reach if Astarion wants to use his hands to pin theirs to its surface. Their back arches slightly for it, sticking their ass out with a small whine, and their tail stiffens as little shocks race up their spine and straight to their cock. Beyond that, they wait for a moment, catnip running them feverish and sensitive still, but, slowly, certainly, towards a similarly drunken state compared to Astarion's reaction to blood.

Their digitigrade legs stretch and shift slightly to get more comfortable, tail giving Astarion's aside a gentle thump, and then another, slightly higher. The appendage is slight, brown fur at the base and mottling towards gray and white stripes.

It's too short - they're too short - to bop him in the face with it. A faint giggle slips out at the thought, and they tilt their head to peer at Astarion. With most of their hair shortened into a slight mop of fur on their head, the rest comprises the mane, long and trailing somewhat down the center of their back. Their pupils are blown wide, their angular look completely consumed by their size.

In short, as the highest points of arousal fade, a more relaxed state of inebriation starts to settle in.

"Enjoying the view, darling?"

Their claws slightly sink into the wall, restless. Giving him time to enjoy the sensation in spite of their own impatience. They will break this moment of stillness if he doesn't, but the edge has been taken off enough that they can think more clearly. They can wait.

"If you pull gently, my tail is yours to play with."

As tempting as it is to give away the more intricate elements of this one pleasure spot along their tail, no, they'll leave it to Astarion to discover on his own.

“Something to be noted for later,” he exhales, the words themselves only falling just short of a sigh. It’s hard for him, wearing the illusion of dignity. Keeping enough control over himself to stave off some wicked, instinctive inclination to let his own inflicted nature take over.

Much as he’d coaxed Raine into letting their self-control lapse, Astarion himself can’t do the same.

But maybe offering one of them the opportunity to let go just this once is the only gift he has it in him to grant.

For now, he stretches forward, folding over the arch of their spine to once again bring his face to the coarser fur at Raine’s neck, fixated on the soft scent, the suppler give of contact as he bears down with his hips, quick to bury himself and let the brighter spark of maddening heat rise high within his belly, spurring him to shift steadily at first with a fluidity of movement that speaks of anything but inexperience.

It's fortunate that Raine's magic is versatile - the moment they have an inkling of Astarion's next move, they're able to prepare properly for it, their shadows taking some of the moisture along their dick and turning it inward to where it can be put to better use.

When Astarion starts to push in, it's not dry, at least. There's some resistance since Raine hasn't been stretched open beforehand. Their orgasm and the catnip only relaxed them so much. But he pushes in and fits and Raine lets out a strained, shaking whine as they're breeched. Their claws carve marks into the wall as they push back against him for more, each wave of pleasure coaxing them to twist between relaxing and tightening up.

"Oh-- fuck-- I---"

Shaking, they further lift their tail and try to match him, body strong enough to not be rocked overmuch unless they let him push them. They're still working to rebuild the muscle they lost, but some has returned and left them more durable for it.

But with Astarion's face buried in their ruff, they tilt their head a bit to allow him better access to where the fur is shorter, higher on their neck. Their pulse pounds hard, and harder still with each wave of pleasure washing over them.

"Bite me-- if you want. Drink, if you want...!"

It would be foolish to make him go without, they think. Raine is no fragile flower to be coddled - especially when it is Astarion himself trusting them to keep him safe. And what better blood to take than that of a dhampir's? Sure, it may have a tang of something animal, but that couldn't be helped. And along with it, Raine's impressive magical stores and longevity certainly could add something pleasant to the taste as well. Besides, it's not the first time they've thought of offering him their neck. Just the first time they've voiced it. Albeit, it's not the best time to do so, but it is a time, and it feels right.

"You won't... mmm, hurt me, unless I let you..."

Even accosted with bliss, Raine knows their own strength. Knows that Astarion can be forced off of them if they want him to be. For now, they don't, loving the feeling of being pushed into. Their smaller body size makes Astarion feel so pleasantly large, with hot and cold shocks zipping up their spine and making their toes try to curl with each inward press, claws digging into the floor.

Between the applied lilac oil and— well, the roaming touch of those shadows where they elude Astarion's conscious thought— it's more pressure than friction between them now. The building catch of his own hips, angled sharp when he catches one of Raine's thighs and lifts it higher by a meager measure; opposite slipping around their front to brush the pads of his fingertips along that tautened length once more, migrating at a matching pace. Slow. Permeating. Fixated on the weighted drag where contact gives way to sensation. Simple and damning.

And beautiful, really, Astarion would argue.

His teeth meet Raine's neck there, scuffing at first, rather than biting. Temptation poised—

Before he sinks them in deep without warning, jaw clamped tight as a wicked vice.

Astarion will find that any movement of Raine's leg is easy, the muscles strong and limber enough. The touch of his fingers to their cock has their breath strangling in their throat, and the brief, teasing sensation of pressure at their neck.

The sensation of being bitten is bliss, a choked, ragged gasp leaving them involuntarily. The tightened feeling of Astarion's jaws doesn't leave Raine thrashing to escape, but groaning and quivering instead, more than one sense inside of them soothed by the newly-felt feeling. Their own fangs extend, as if preparing to strike as well, but there's nowhere to go.

More alive than undead, Raine's blood is hot and self-generated like any other living creature. Regeneration attempts to kick in, to push Astarion's fangs out before long, but it isn't hard to limit that regeneration with their own magic power. There is the danger of death if Astarion takes too much, and Raine has the sense to use a touch of magic to slightly slow how much they're letting him take.

Two firsts is more than enough to give him. There's no need to also give him their first near-death experience at the same time.

Still, this joining is so slow. Deliberate. As if they're something to be savored, and that's about the strangest realization to have in the middle of being fucked. It's almost like lovemaking, and there's something deeply nostalgic in that.

But more than that, the act itself scratches a very deep itch, and Raine shudders and reaches with one pawpad-adorned hand to gently cradle the back of Astarion's head, delicate claws kept well away to avoid pricking him. They ignore the brief gut-feeling that the sensation is too unnerving for Astarion to linger, and focus on the feeling of his teeth in their neck, instead.

A deep, rumbling purr emits from their throat and chest, and they impatiently rock their hips a little to try to add to the lovely sensations. It's difficult to completely let go, to let Astarion not only lead but fully take them at his pace. The dissonance between what they were expecting and what they are getting is too different to fully ignore.

And yet, the novelty of the moment, the pressure, and pleasure, has them careening over the edge a second time before long, insides fluttering around Astarion's cock as they let out a choked cry of bliss.

Their hips still sway into his movements, insistent. Raine's not quite wrung-out yet, and the added sensitivity now makes their muscles twitch toward and away from Astarin's touch in an unintended game of tug-of-war with itself.

But it's enough that every wall they have around their heart crashes down in the next instant, pulling forth what they want the most in this moment.

"Please-- don't stop-- Astarion, fuck, please...!!" Pleasure and need and something else, deeper inside reverberates in their voice. More. They want more and yet nothing more than for Astarion to continue to sweetly drive them insane with this comfortable pace.

They've never had sex while looking like this before - all fur and fangs and claws, with very little that's recognizably human. This is an acceptance that Raine's never tasted before now.

And it's enough to make them nearly cry as they beg for him, as if he might be cruel and pull out and away from them, leaving Raine emptied and hollow, unfulfilled.

He can’t lap at their neck like this— not unless he wants a mouthful of fur, which, while not offensive in any respect, isn’t the grooming-adjacent dream when buried to the hilt with feverish intent. So instead he only drinks from their throat until the rumbling in his fangs from that purr drowns out the rest of his own thoughts. Until the bursting brilliance of unparalleled sweetness— headier than any wine, more intoxicating to his senses than well-aged brandy— settles low within his stomach and high within his own mind, underscoring the vivacity of every thrust. Every gasp and groan and growl.

The way they moan his name as though it were a petition, bearing down as their body shudders.

His face sinks into fur in that definitive moment, hold going taut and harsh as at last he takes to rutting with all the fervor of an animal let free of its leash: the strokes he works in pinch tight, gathering the ebbing pull off myriad barbs along the edge of his hand, his own thrusts clipped and almost bruising for the sake of remaining pressed in deep during those pivotal beats where all the world seems to numb itself into nothingness around them, murmurs sweet as they tumble breathlessly from his open lips.

The harsher pulls on their cock, stimulated all the more by each tug of the individual barbs under that firm grip, each barb pulling on sensitive, overheated flesh, is enough for them to completely forget how to be quiet. Reduced to little more than an animal in heat, with the pleasure of being drank from to top it all off. To say nothing of when Astarion's pace quickens, and even Astarion's name is reduced to aborted attempts and wordless pleas. Each sweet murmur from his lips isn't quite close enough to stimulate their ears, but the sentiments are heard all the same.

They have no more breath with which to purr anymore - each draw focused on trying to gather as much as they can before the next movement has them reeling, nigh screaming in bliss.

Usually, their partners don't work them over so much. Don't take the time to chase more than their own pleasure. Don't take the time to shove them towards the brink over and over again.

The overstimulation is too much - a weaker orgasm shudders through them when Astarion's pace and his grip stimulate them just so, back arching more than a human's spine might find comfortable without extensive training.

They're nearly convulsing with how much their body isn't sure what they want. But Raine makes no effort to pull away from the sweet torment. They're starting to feel dizzy, too, doubtless from blood loss, but they can't summon up the urge to care as their body mindlessly pushes into each thrust in spite of every shiver and shake.

Astarion has them firmly, though - safely. They won't fall, they know.

Their fingers shakily play with Astarion's hair, using the sides of their fingers when the shivering will let them so that they can avoid scratching Astarion's scalp too hard.

He isn't finished, though between the violent cinching of their body— the wracking, writhing, undulating intensity of their chased bliss— and how ruthless Astarion had turned in those last few beats, he is undeniably close. But they've time enough yet, and his own satisfaction is a meandering thing: he pulls it from appreciation as much as touch itself. To have someone beneath him, panting hard and yet aching for more, it's better than so much else he could want.

And besides, if he'd spent himself just as much, there'd be a lull in their engagement, rather than a segue.

Their fingers comb across his scalp, lithe body sagging with exhaustion and easily caught against Astarion's own taut musculature. He draws their back to his chest with one arm (slickness perched across his fingertips), shifting slowly to lift them into something of a princess carry after he's seen to his own delicate withdrawal. The bed isn't far, and ragged a thing as it is, it remains thankfully capable of supporting their weight enough that he doesn't need to feel guilty when he rests Raine across its span before climbing in to perch over them— mouth returning to their neck simply for the luxury of touch and scent.

"Feeling better, darling?"

A narcissistic question; the answer's obvious enough, he simply wishes to hear it.

It isn't until their back touches the bed that they do actually notice how tired they are - their legs tremble from the exertion in ways that simple exercise takes hours to achieve, instead of a heated flurry of moments that feel as quick as they are slow.

With Astarion's fangs out of their neck, the skin ripples as it heals over, and as the taller man joins them on the bed, their soft ears perk forward, and then tilt to the sides as they let their mind drift toward nothingness.

The words bring them back to the ground, and Raine shifts a little to hold him by his waist, desiring nothing more than to mindlessly touch in their post-orgasm haze. Their touch glides upward still, passing by odd scarring that they have no reference for, on the way up to his shoulders. Astarion's build is broader than even Raine's ever was in their prime, and acknowledging that comes with a soft sense of awe to feel him so intimately.

They're usually the one putting on airs this way - asking if it was good, if they feel better now. This reversal has Raine at a loss at the undisturbed ground beneath their feet. It's left them feeling like a boat that's slipped its rope from port, adrift on the whims of the waves alone.

Their answer doesn't feel so simple as yes or no, and they give him a belated purr before they form words at all. There is, at least, merit in acknowledging that they do feel better, in a sense. In the other, there's confusion - how long will this last? Astarion will get the freedom he deserves. And then... what after? There's a non-zero chance of parting ways.

How deep does this connection go, before they plunge too far and deserve to get hurt for the wrong depth? For thinking this relationship is something that it could be, but isn't?

"Yeah. Although... a repeat performance might be in order. I..."

Their voice is still a little rough from all the noises they've made, but even that's healing, too. They'd managed to slow their own bleeding enough to avoid too much of a struggle, regeneration-wise. Better than having let it go too far.

"...Ah, bookmark that thought. It's hard for me to focus. And I want.. to have the right words."

They shake their head a little to dismiss their thoughts. Later. It's the drop of hormones talking right now. They can reevaluate when they're calm again.

"But, hm, what about you? I could ask you the same." Their features pull into something of a smile, which, on an actual cat, would probably be more unnerving than how Raine makes it look. Given that most cats don't have the right muscles to smile in the first place. They hope Astarion can't read their facial expressions as well thanks to the different structures. They aren't as at ease as they're trying to make themself out to be.

And another, different touch of insecurity doesn't help. So wrapped up in their own pleasure, they're not even sure if they felt him finish. Did he? They'd use their leg to check, but... he might not appreciate the shorter, coarser fur on their legs brushing against such a delicate aspect of his anatomy. and they don't want to break eye contact to look, either.

"I can... still keep going a little longer, if you want. My appetite for this isn't small." Their brow furrows. "Just.. no more blood for you tonight. Any more and you might have to hunt for me while I'm a lump on a log and then feed me by hand."

As they are, they're so wrung out that they're not sure if they actually can manage another round. But their spirit is more than willing enough.

Edited 2021-11-26 07:40 (UTC)

“My darling kitten, you’ve nothing to fret about.” He says, lifting his head from the tufted span of their throat, relaxing as his weight settles attentively across their smaller frame. There’s a risk they’ll notice he’s yet run himself to finish like that, pinned as they are against one another, but Astarion hardly seems concerned about the possibility.

And truthfully, if Raine’s entirely too spent to go on, he can always finish himself.

So one hand lifts to fit beneath their narrow jaw, scuffing gently in slighter patterns.

“I’m happy.” Astarion affirms, nearly purring himself (if he could) owing to the lingering heat in his veins. The drunken, intoxicating effects of the blood of an intelligent creature, rather than the ashen taste of lowly vermin.

All he’d been forced to drink under Cazador’s heel.

All he’s quickly working to forget, now.

“That’s all you need to know.”

Something in Raine relaxes to hear that Astarion is happy. The shift in his tone from his usual control is pleasant, too. It would be nice to hear him like this more often. Combined with the gentle affection along their jaw, Raine's eyes lid, third eyelids briefly peeking out, as if they might just fall asleep already. But they wake more, and gently push their face into his hand, ears unconsciously tilting to the sides and lowering.

There's plenty to fret about. They haven't lived nearly a millennia and a half (okay, the millennia part is only chronological, but still!) trying to brush aside any worry like it's unnecessary.

But maybe they do worry too much. Who knows? And Raine isn't sure they should trouble him with things post-sex.

As Astarion settles against them more, however, they do notice that he hasn't finished yet.

"I find, the older I get, the more there is to fret about," they allow themself to say, in a strangely more sober tone than they usually use.

"Primarily, this is just 'drop' speaking on my part, twisting my thoughts with it. I tend to get melancholy, or.. incredibly sad, after being wound up so beautifully. It doesn't last too long, but it does mean I'm a bit.. needier than usual. And... I don't regret this. At all."

They lid their eyes at him, in lieu of an attempted smile. So long as Astarion pets them, the more they start to relax in full, much like they do in full cat form.

"That said... you didn't finish with me, did you? Let me help you along? I would take great pleasure in it."

Their brow quirks up. "Especially since the position we were in deprived me of a good view. Well, not that I saw anything but stars after a bit."

They try to bite their lip a little, but mostly lacking lips, it's just an aimless, tiny click of teeth. Their ears tilt slightly upward again.

"I've never let anyone bite me before, either, so... that was a first. I'd been thinking of offering for awhile now. I just... couldn't find the right time to say so."

The scent of lilac oil lingers, potent and eclipsing.

"Mm, I've never bitten anyone before either, truth be told." But given the subject itself and all the baggage that brings, Astarion's quick to draw attention away from it, grinning so serenely that it seems like he might indeed be attempting to press their troubles aside by force, rather than anything naturally bloomed.

But his fingers keep roaming, keep smoothing out the patterns of their fur.

"Are you certain you're content to keep going?"

Raine notices the shift in topic, giving them an important admission in both what is said and left unsaid. Whatever the reason why is either best left another time, or none of their concern at all.

And as it is, Raine preens under the touch, fur settling back into place, and the dhampir hums and openly hooks their legs around his waist in invitation, though not so hard as to insist, purring again before long. Emotionally, they're still a bit raw, but the promise of lingering closeness is too good to pass up. It's enough to soften the sensation of drop. They might drop again after, but, the drawback is more than worth the pleasure that comes before it.

"Yes. Very certain."

Their tail curls affectionately against Astarion's thigh, and the shadows come creeping back, warm as they smooth over Astarion's back like decadent silk and creep lower, pressing and teasing against sensitive flesh.

"I still want you. You're also the first person who has still wanted to take me, even when I look like this. How could...--"

Something like loneliness flickers in their gaze, but it's quickly gone. Their gaze warms, pointedly.

"So many firsts. I don't want it to end, even if I drown in it. In you."

“The first to— really?”

How disappointing— and unsurprising— to know exactly how fearful the mundane world can be when it comes to monsters.

But he forgets that thought once those shadows start crawling. Once he feels that tail curl against his side, a softer exhale interrupting whatever he’d intended to say. His browline pinches, he pulls himself up slightly— but doesn’t lean into that offer, at war with his own arousal.

“I don’t want this to be an obligation, you know. You don’t owe me anything for simply taking an interest.”

At once, Raine's ears pin back, eyes widening as Astarion pulls back a bit. Every instinct they have screams that he come back, come settle against them no matter what comes of it. Raine's claws dig in on accident, and it takes his words to sober them from that moment of panic.

"I don't see it as an obligation."

It's not like this is a transaction, for Raine to ignore their own tastes in favor of a client's. This night isn't purchased, but freely given.

"...But given my history, I'm not surprised you think that."

They haven't exactly made a secret of what they did to pass the time - money or food in exchange for sex with people they'd forget as soon as they left the building, passing for an elf without anyone realizing how wrong that assumption is. Though they never regaled Astarion with any specific tales unless he asked, instead keeping things to the more socially acceptable topic of being cute as a cat in exchange for food. In that way, they know the taste of rats and other vermin easily.

Doing this for any semblance of feeling alive, in the here and now. Anything to remain part of a world that moves along without them.

Their heart starts to pound, purring silent.

"Astarion. I've wanted to have sex with you the moment we met. Even before I accepted the task of guarding you. Of freeing you. Your handsome looks were only a still-sparking catalyst. If I hadn't liked more of you than that, I wouldn't feel-- "

Raine's brow wrinkles.

"I wouldn't feel as affectionate for you as I do. Wouldn't want... I wouldn't care if you were truly satisfied or not if I didn't like you. I'd only look at it with the view of what I could get out of it."

Swallowing, Raine meets his eyes, ears still pinned back in anxiety.

"It's more like... you accepting me like this, when no one else ever did? I never expected that to ever happen. That's... "

Their ears and tail quiver slightly as they struggle for the words. They're also fortunate that this shape doesn't have the capacity to shed any tears in the traditional sense. They'd probably be crying from the feeling of drop and Astarion's withdrawal all combined into one irrational mess.

"...Shit. I don't know how to say it. Please. Trust me that this isn't an obligation to me. And it's hell not a transaction. I'm here, and want to continue with you, because I want to. And it makes me happy to fulfill the desires of someone I like. To bring them the same pleasure that person has brought me. From start to end."

“All right, all right,” he murmurs gently in the face of their admission, voice soft as feather down itself though— well, Astarion is only ever good at comfort when he’s pretending. When he has to be, in essence, at least in the most traditional sense of the word: open-hearted and full of easement, all the right words in all the right places. In his own natural state, it’s more like what Raine’s met with now instead.

Something coaxing and quiet, calming in a way that doesn’t fail to define his own inability to empathize completely, owing to being little more than broken glass at his core.

If they’re afraid he feels this is performative, the best he can do is agree that it isn’t. That he understands.

His hand finds its way beneath their chin, tipping it high before he plants a single, chaste kiss to the edge of their jaw.

“Point well taken, don’t go weeping on me now, love.” Again, he teases. Again, it’s mercifully toothless— preceding the way he climbs to straddle them after scuffing his nails along their thigh. A slower shift, the settling of his weight to pin them together, gentle as breathing in those first few moments when he rocks his hips against their own. When he lets his still stiffened cock brush against those tamed barbs, palm to the center of Raine’s chest.

One thready exhale works its way between his fangs as he sighs, “...I accept.”

Raine could never ask of him more than he's willing or able to offer, accepting the gift that it is of what little vulnerability they have to spare between them.

Their lust has cooled since they started talking, trying to work through everything to convey what they mean with words they barely have, and everything in them shudders in relief when that contact comes back.

Their heart still pounds, and it flutters briefly at the touch, easily felt through the thinner, warm fur there, and they draw in a shaky breath to feel his enduring heat against their, well... they've gone mostly soft. But they don't pull away, they don't retreat. A phantom of a purr rumbles through them at his acceptance, some of the strain in their expression easing.

Instead, they take care to gently curl their palm against him, plush pawpads squishing around his shape, since their own girth, even like this, is still too wide for them to bother trying to touch in a way that matters. They keep their claws at bay, mindful not to risk cutting him. It'll take a little bit for their lust to catch up again, but they're patient. If it does, it does. If not, they'll make do.

They rock up into him with a shivering breath, the wound on their neck already a vivid scar. Even that will be gone before long.

"How does it feel to have a dhampir's blood in your body? Warm? Sweet?" Their expression softens further as they ask it, a playful little lilt to show that they also intend it as a form of dirty talk - does it feel good?, they mean. Does he feel good to take the blood of a thinking creature, willingly gifted to him in the midst of passion?

One that's not a far jump away from biting into the throat of a true vampire.

Raine sits up a little, their other hand smoothing over his arm and giving the barest scratch of claws - enough to gently sting at worst, but not enough to draw blood.

"It felt so good to give it to you."

Maybe if they're lucky, Astarion can amass some of the magical energy given through it to develop a resistance to sunlight. Perhaps not as immaculate as a dhampir's, but an approximate. Give him a brief endurance before the sun might burn him.

If so, it would definitely be a good idea to keep offering him their blood. A possibility that Raine can't help but feel excited to attempt. However long Astarion will accept their blood. Maybe it could be enough to do more than that. Raine has barely stopped thinking about different possibilities since they started this journey together.

"You're beautiful like this, too. Though you're always beautiful."

Even if they can't reach the same peak of pleasure with him right now, the least they can do is sweeten his with their tone and words, and their body. Even so, any friction at their joined hips is sweet, enough to make their legs squirm and toes catch on the sheets.

It still feels good, even if it sends the strongest sparks through their nerves, still warring between too much and just right.

“Flatterer,” he sighs, head lolling to one side as he shivers for the vivacity of that contact— the feel of their hand constricting around him, the almost unbearably potent scuff of vulnerable skin beneath him, setting his nerves alight.

Astarion could drown in the sensation of it, drunk as he is. Raine’s reminders almost sending him to shivers, wrestling with the wilder urge to take more. To chase that blissful high again— in memory or reality or however he can steal it, panting through the edges of his teeth.

“I’ve never known...anything quite like it,” exhaled harsh and heavy as he ruts with a coaxing patience, every inch of his body drawn taut and arched, lingering somewhere between distilled pleasure and performative, deep-ingrained instincts. “You’re remarkable.”

He promises it as though breathlessly reciting poetry, letting the words flow from his tongue, body wholly distracted with the demands of its achingly drawn-out work.

“You taste remarkable.”

It's enticing, watching Astarion shift and move like this, and they purr in contentment, shivering as a loose pleasure coils through them with every rock of Astarion's hips, and from the briefly-there graze of their thumb against themself with those movements.

His admission alone has them groaning, purring loud and deeply. They tighten his grip around his cock in response, guide it to pin it more firmly against their body. Those barbs drag against his dick for the movements all the more for it.

"I'm glad. You'll have my blood again."

A little more truly couldn't hurt. Could it?

"You can have another taste right now. Here. I'll stop you if I hit my limit."

Their touch shifts from his arm to cradle his cheek in their hand, offering their wrist this time. And if it helps Astarion nudge over the edge, so much the better.

Feeding him feels good, and they have always been weak to pleasure. Their bearing is that of the ever-contented cat who has found a delicious cream. And the wrist they offer is also sparsely-furred, all the more vulnerable for it.

This is more addicting than biting another, Raine decides. Though it's a rare moment that they ever feel safe enough to bite, to draw blood for their usually-quenched hunger. Especially when there's no need, when they can sustain themself like any human?

There's also some degree of irrational possessiveness and jealousy. How dare Cazador sire Astarion with no intent on releasing him from his state of a spawn! And so if Raine paints Astarion's being with their blood, with their vitality, it is yet something that Cazador cannot have. To show anyone who lays eyes on him that there's more to gaining power than from those it's robbed from - but that it can be given, too, and that it can be all the more potent for it. All the more beautiful, alluring, and deadly.

Maybe even enough to wrench Cazador's head from his shoulders.

Astarion has the potential to be far more powerful than Raine could ever hope to be, given his nature and drive. Why not offer him whatever they can of gifts - not with the expectation of something in return, but simply because of their own selfish desire to give Astarion what he's been long-denied. All because Astarion's master is a selfish bastard.

But such matters are not entirely in the throes of Raine's mind, though they've lurked in the depths for some time now. Inklings of them creep around, never forgotten. And with Raine's sobering mind, coming down from the drop and tentatively rising back up to a dull sensation of pleasure, that gives a precious few minutes of such racing thoughts.

Until it gives way, back behind the thick of the moment. Bracing and heart pounding anew with anticipation and excitement, hoping that Astarion gives in and bites them just once more. Their groin gives a weak throb for it, though still lacks the energy to harden fully, their breath catching once.

Their pupils are wide enough to nearly drown out the color in their irises, facial whiskers drawn forward as they watch him, unblinking, and nigh-lipless maw pulled into an attempt at a lewd smile. Bite-- please bite, once more! Just a little more, to help them chase away the creeping rational thought, to let them drown a little longer.

And this way, so they can savor Astarion's bliss all the better, and sear it into their memory, never to be forgotten.

“You’re risking too much...” he mutters, his lips already slipping along their wrist, mouthing at it with barely contained desire. The way he groans is— lurid, to put it bluntly, spurred on by the tightening of that grip, sparking an intermittent wince that lives somewhere between the pinnacle of sensation and nearly a touch too much of it at times. Electric and overwhelming, and just as addictive as the memory of their taste. Ecstasy, for lack of a better term, each wave of it under the combined pressure they expend so much stronger than the last.

He could go mad from it all. From avaricious wanting, insatiable enough to glut himself on touch, on scent and sight, taste and hunger unsuppressed.

His fingers find their tail where it curls between them, and he pulls, as though reigning in his own desire by sparking theirs in turn.

“...if you’re too weak...”

It’ll be too dangerous, he means, though the words never find their way past his teeth.

Admittedly, Astarion's restraint in this moment is-- perplexing, at first, but it also makes sense. It would not do well to let Raine weaken too much, but truthfully, in the fog of arousal, Raine finds that they could not give a single shit about that. Their fingers pet his cheek, breath shivering from how he mouths at their wrist, but when he pulls on their tail, rutting is all they care about.

The pull itself has a few joints popping, admittedly. Flexible muscles and tendons coaxed into releasing some built-up tension. It's a bit dangerous to pull too hard, but most damage to their body can be repaired, and they believe that Astarion won't pull so hard as to seriously damage them.

At the same time, pleasure sparks up their spine and they shudder and arch into it with a ragged groan, some base instinct stimulated. The only thing missing is Astarion's cock inside of them at the same time; their insides clench around nothing, and they keen slightly to express that aimless frustration as their arousal fully reawakens.

With a shaky breath, they decide to fulfill themself for now with all the practice they have from being alone until recently, tugging on shadows and materializing them in the same way they did to touch Astarion. Instead, they gather into a mimicry of Astarion's size and shape and slip inside of them, making them growl and keen. It takes energy to keep that magic manifested, but not much. And it's enough to keep them from feeling like they might go insane. The slip and slide of the magic-made phallus is far from silent, too, given that their hole has been so well-softened earlier, wet with oil and any precome Astarion left behind.

The friction between them is just too good to interrupt, and loathe are they to interrupt what's working for Astarion right now. Seeing him however barely cling to sense is-- remarkably arousing. As is the anticipation that he might bite at any moment.

Speaking of...

"I can always... mm... bite you back. Take back what I need...." Not want, need. Just enough to make sure they're not left bedridden and unable to move.

"But, mmm, darling-- how naughty, waking up my lust again like this."

There's absolutely no chiding here, their gaze playful, if hazy. Their hips shudder and twitch upwards with want, cock rapidly finding the strength to stiffen in full again.

"Just-- please-- don't leave me wanting."

It’s a strange thought, their offer. Barely working its way in past the fog of his own hunger— physical, instinctive, lustful, even— he hasn’t been bitten since Cazador himself. The act in essence had become, through that anchoring truth, a means of establishing dominion alone. Because for Astarion to bite someone else, it was all instinct. Pleasure and need intertwined. He’s sired nothing. No one. If fate continues on as it has, he never will— and it’s a fair price to pay for freedom.

But to be bitten...

Worked up as he is, his brow creases sharply, pinching tight across the middle in a show of deeper thought. He’s half running on mindless urges by now, punctuated by the way he’s so quick to sink his teeth into Raine’s offered wrist the moment it can be justified.

Yes, in other words.

“...I won’t,” he promises, punctuated by a shorter bite, his back arching, nails digging. He can’t take it anymore, the idea of patience above all else. His tongue lathes across those bite marks, scuffing in short fur, and when he bears his own hips forward, it’s only to release that tail and take hold of Raine’s slickened length instead (as much as he can, at least, given its substantial nature) pressing it to himself with every intention of fitting them inside him, a process that elicits a fitful series of barely puncturing marks along Raine’s forearm, as he struggles— breathlessly— to ease himself down across nothing more than the crest itself. That’s all. Just a touch of it.

One last nip to the arm near his lips, and with a lilting groan he pulls away to tip his own head back, throat long and lean in a tightened exhale. An excuse for the positioning he needs when his hand slides down farther still, arched fingertips slipping in around the strange feeling of that conjured facsimile of his own cock, pressing inside Raine as much as purchase allows.

Greedy.

“As long as you ache for me,” he murmurs, the heat of his own breath shattering the normally high cast of his voice, fingertips working where they're pressed feverishly tight within Raine alone, “you’ll have everything you’ll ever want...”

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