Glycerine | Astarion

Chapter Four

Gʅყƈҽɾιɳҽ

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This chapter contains mature content.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, causing Astarion to lift his head. As his eyes scanned the sky, looking for any sign of rain. It was a warm and humid night in Baldur's Gate, the humidity clinging to the man's skin as he stood alone.

He stood between two buildings, waiting. Waiting for the perfect moment.

The back door to the inn opened, and the tall half-elf stumbled outside and turned down the alley at the corner.  The man walked with his hand pressed against the brick wall, his head hanging low until he saw Astarion.

The man hummed as he recognized him. Astarion remained still, watching him as he inched closer.

"Was beginning to wonder if you'd ever show back." He said. "You left without a word, I wanted to see you again."

Astarion didn't speak as he pressed his hand against Astarion's back, pulling himself closer. The smell of harsh wine caused him to grit his teeth.

"Yes, well, I'm not done with you yet."

The man chuckled, and Astarion closed his eyes as he waited for it to be over. The man leaned in, pressing his lips against Astarion's jaw as he groped him. He waited, listening to the man as he released a pleasured moan.

Astarion tried to hide his disgust as he played along. Pressed his hand to the man's face, he pulled back a few inches. "Why don't we go somewhere more private? More comfortable. . ."

He squeezed Astarion. "Lead the way."

He lead the man across town and near the building that overlooked the streets. It was large and dimly lit. Music played as they entered, and the man chuckled as he followed Astarion inside.

"This is where you live? What, are you rich?" He asked.

Astarion turned to face him. "You could say that."

The man reached for Astarion, unfortunately letting him do so. Astarion rested his hands upon the man's waist, holding him still.

When the man reached between them and gripped his arousal through his pants, Astarion clenched his jaw tightly as he waited impatiently. Just a little while longer. . ."

The stench of his breath was revolting, even for someone like Astarion. It was putrid and breathtaking as the man's breath fanned his face.

"What now?" He asked, slipping his fingers through Astarion's white curls.

Astarion gripped the man's jaw with one hand, his lips inching towards his ear.

"I'm sorry."

Before the man could respond, a hand reached from behind him and gripped his neck. Shouting, the man from behind towered over him, sinking his teeth into the crane of his neck. Astarion turned and closed his eyes as he listened to the sound of his cry as his life slowly deteriorated before him.

The thump of his body was when he finally turned around. Standing before the dead man, was an older man, licking his lips free of the crimson liquid.