Astarion's smirk pulls taut across his bone white skin, fangs and lips glinting red with your blood. He licks himself clean dismissively with the back of his hand, peering at you— again. The amount of times this has happened so far is staggering— like he didn't just drain you so much you felt this lightheaded. He feels quite alive, actually.

The ascension changed him. As much as you hate to say it, it did. When Astarion says he loves you these days, he says it with too much honey. Like he needs to cover up the sense that something within him is gone. And it won't be coming back.

He clicks his tongue. He can read your mannerisms, every twitch on your face, like a novel he's intimate with. Astarion's expression shifts from distant disappointment right back into that sly, flirty smile he's sure you love so much. He caresses your skin, thumb brushing over the raw holes in your neck. He loves the reminder. "What?" He sighs, "Don't look at me like that, darling. You know I love you."