infatuation ☾ bg3 writings

the art of indulgence - astarion x fem!oc

inspired by this artwork I saw on twt:

https://x.com/morkeerie/status/1785700277812658335?s=46&t=0zHu9AN1h0I5BlfiCGjcwg

Cirice strolled quietly through the palace halls, savoring the stillness of the late evening. The marble was cool beneath her bare feet and the air was slightly chilled, seeping through the thin fabric of her silken nightdress as she explored aimlessly, making her rounds to ensure everything (and everyone) was where it was supposed to be. The majority of her day had been spent outside of the palace walls, where she'd been finalizing multiple deals with wealthy businessmen in the upper city to replace the upholstery and drapery in the main hall of their home, as well as re-papering the walls – just some of the few remaining scars left over from the former owner. They'd be switching out the hideous, patterned crimson for something nicer and much more elegant. Something dark, yet eye-catching – a shade of violet so deep it appeared black as the night. The paper and fabrics she'd chosen would cost them a generous satchel of gold, plus an extra three thousand or so to get rid of the Szarr insignia that still marred the ballroom door, but they could more than afford to part with it. All of that to say – Cirice was pleased to finally be home.

Cirice was nearly back to her and Astarion's shared bedroom when she noticed a faint flickering light spilling out from the doorway of one of the sitting rooms. She paused, her eyes narrowing. With a gentle push, she eased the door open only to stop in her tracks at the sight before her. There, sprawled across one of the sunning chaises in full, shameless splendor, was Astarion. The Vampire Lord, himself – entirely bare.

His pale skin was flushed and supple under the light of the lamp. It was obvious that he'd been indulged while she was gone. In one of his hands he loosely held a silver goblet of wine, which he sipped from upon seeing his partner slip into the room. His other... was otherwise occupied.

For a long moment, Cirice simply stood in the doorway, a mixture of amusement and exasperation flooding through her like thick syrup. And Astarion continued on as if she'd never walked into the room at all. He stayed reclined against the dark velvet backing, his movements unhurried and entirely indulgent as his long fingers stroked over his flushed cock with slow, languid movements. It was as if he believed that the sitting room was his own private stage. If the room faced outside, Cirice was sure he'd have thrown open the curtains for the entire city to lay their eyes upon his sinful frame.

He pretended not to notice her as his crimson colored eyes fixed on a section of one of the sprawling bookshelves, pretending to be enthralled with the shelves and shelves of tomes and artifacts. His eyes were half-lidded – lazy – and a faint, pleased smile curved onto his lips when he realized she wasn't leaving.

The tiefling cleared her throat, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe, one sharp brow arched in a look of pure, unimpressed patience.

"Really?" She asked dryly, and her tone cut through the room. His smile grew. "You truly are incapable of restraint, aren't you?"

The Vampire Lord's eyes flicked towards where she stood and Cirice felt like rolling her eyes when that smile twisted into a smirk. He'd always been one for vanity, the Ascension hadn't changed that... His hand never slowed over his prick, the shiny tip appearing and disappearing into the clutch of his fist, and he purred.

"Ah, darling," he drew the nickname out on his tongue until it sounded grating in her ears. "Back so soon? I apologize, I thought I'd have a bit more privacy..."

A bit more privacy... Cirice should have been home hours ago. The scene before her was nothing but one of narcissistic indulgent.

She gave her husband a once-over, her eyes dragging equal parts bemused and unimpressed from his toes up to the white curls swept back behind his ears. It was her turn to smirk, and she couldn't suppress the noise that rose from her throat as she began to laugh. "Privacy? When you left the door open for anyone to see? My love... that's vain, even for you."

He chuckled and reached out to set his goblet on the side table, his right hand never ceasing in its slow drag up and down as he let his gaze linger over her form in her nightdress. It was a little thing, resembling lingerie more than sleeping attire, but she tended to sleep naked anyways, so it made no difference to her. Still, Astarion raked his eyes over the pebbled peaks of her nipples through the fabric and made a show of teasing at his tip. "Oh, come now, Cirice. Don't act like you aren't captivated by the sight of me."

This time she couldn't suppress how her eyes rolled, and she pushed herself off of the doorframe at the same time to move towards him with the same air of someone indulging a spoiled pet.

"Captivated?" She said and stopped just at his side. Astarion immediately placed his free hand on her thigh and began to trace the skin up, under the hem of her nightdress. She ignored his touch, even when it curled around to grab at her ass. Her gaze drifted over him, taking in the sight of his muscled thighs and the angles of his hips before settling on where his fist was wrapped around himself, and she raised an eyebrow as her smirk deepened. "I'm not captivated, Astarion. I'm simply entertained. There's a difference."

He let out a low, knowing laugh that let her know he was unashamed and entirely too pleased with himself.

"If you say so," he murmured, his voice dripping with the smug confidence of someone entirely too used to admiration. "But you're here, aren't you?"

Cirice sighed, feigning a weary patience, and reached for the wine goblet. She took a slow, deep sip before placing it back down and meeting his gaze. "I'm here to remind you that the palace isn't your personal theater. And if you're trying to impress me, you're going to have to try much harder than this."

Astarion fell quiet, his eyes narrowing. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards and Cirice caught the moment that his hand faltered in its ministrations, coming to a stop to squeeze the thick base of his cock. Then he leaned back against the pillows behind his head, his eyes glinting with something sharp – something like a challenge – and murmured. "I see. Then it looks to me that I should've begun my performance in earnest." His free hand – the one that had been on her thigh – reached up to rest behind his head, and he casted his eyes down to his hips, where he had already begun to thrust his hips up into the slick ring of his fingers. They shined with precum, and another upwards pull only eased more out.

Cirice was still not amused.

She laughed once more, and reached for the goblet, taking a final sip before handing it back to the elf, who was forced to sit up slightly to take it from her.

"Perhaps," she said and cocked her head to the side, "but you'll need more than vanity to keep my attention."

And with that, the tiefling turned and left, swinging her hips slightly and allowing her tail to wave through the air in line with her steps. She left him there, in the sitting room, with the faintest smirk lingering on her lips as she slipped out of the room. And it was far too soon that she noticed that the sound of Astarion's skin against his skin had stopped – he wouldn't be far behind.