Fangs & Blades

Chapter Seventeen

"Ah. Right. My fault, I... thought that you were suggesting something else."

Without warning, her hands reached out to grab his face, lowering it to meet her eyes. "I can see where your mind is going, and I feel like I should remind you of our agreement," Victoria said in a quiet, steady murmur.

He knew that she could probably snap his neck without so much as a thought, and the thought of her doing so was something he realized he enjoyed quite a lot. "I... I know. I wouldn't dream of pushing you too far, darling. But you're certainly giving me some lovely ideas."

"Ideas you'll keep to yourself."

"As you command, doctor Briar," he said with a soft exhale. Astarion leaned closer, his forehead pressing against her. "I am yours, my sweet, just tell me what you want."

With sudden release, Victoria sent his head lolling back. She turned to lay on her back next to him, looking up at the tent's ceiling. "You said that like you were ready to take the whip."

"My dear, you just grabbed me, forced me against you, and nearly bent my body in two. What did you think was going to happen?"

Gently, and with none of his usual mocking or lewd gestures, Astarion rolled over and cuddled up close against Victoria's side, running a hand over her arm.

"I just hope you know, darling, that this is one of the most wonderful nights I've had in a while. I'd be honoured to sleep by your side. And nothing else. I'm not sure your poor throat could take it." From beneath his lashes, he saw that she was snickering.

He wasn't aroused, not right now. She'd quenched his thirst already, more than he had expected her to. For once, the closeness of her touch was all he wanted. He nuzzled into her hair with a contented little sigh, a hand slowly wandering to settle on her bosom.

She looked down, but he hadn't made a move to squeeze or roll his thumb on the peaks. Still, she was wary. Astarion could be a deceitful bastard more times than not.

"May I touch your hair? I've heard it's a very intimate thing to do," he braved. She might just let him do that, if the hand on her breast didn't bother her enough to push him off.

Her dark hair was always bound in a high ponytail or a tight braid, as letting it down just got in the way, but she refused to cut it more than the tips. It was the little bit of vanity she allowed herself. Her hands were ruined, and her nails had to be cut short. Her body was scarred, her skin pale and with dark circles under her eyes, her body thin and bony. But her hair was everything. It went way past her waist, the sleek strands glossy and dark like a raven's feathers.

The only hands that washed, trimmed, and brushed it had always been her own, but she'd already given him so much that this felt like an easier task than it would've been at any other time.

"You can untie it," she allowed, turning to lie on her side, her back to his chest.

Astarion took his time with the task, pulling the elastic down to the end of it, his arm stretching far behind him, feeling the weight of heavy strands fall as they slid into freedom.

"You always smell like a mix of lavender and... something else. I can't quite tell what it is. Is it an essential oil of some kind?"

"Death and antiseptic," she answered plainly, in her unperturbed, brutally honest manner.

"Death and antiseptic. I guess that's a good way to describe you... A beautiful phantom, a gentle death that cares for her patients... A doctor who smells like necromancy."

She still smelled beautiful to him, he thought.

He ran his fingers through her hair, trying not to let the purr she gave at the caress wake parts of him that she would not touch again. Her pale skin and dark eyes made her look so ghostly, but the silken strands of her hair looked like a waterfall of pitch black, shining in the faint light of the tent.