Astarion was on top of you, his hands on either side of your head as his face was placed into the curve of your neck. Drinking the blood from your veins, was delicious. The metallic tang, the warmth of your pulse against his lips, it all sent a ripple of pleasure through his body. Your body was pressed against the bedroll, the campfire's glow illuminating both of your figures in the night.

“Ah, this is... Exquisite,” He purred, his voice thick with contentment. The pressure of his lips on your skin intensified, and he let out a soft sigh, drawing in more of your blood. He seemed to be getting lost in the moment as he began to dig his fangs deeper into your neck, a small tinge of pain surrounding the area. You started to lose focus, your vision becoming hazy as he continued.

But then, something shifted. The warmth of your pulse seemed to quicken, your breath came in shallow, panicked gasps, and your body tensed beneath him. Astarion instinctively pulled back, his eyes widening in alarm.

“My apologies,” He hissed, his voice laced with concern. “Did I… overindulge? I did not mean to—”

You pushed him away, your hands fumbling at your throat. He landed hard on the bedroll, his usual languidness replaced with a bewildered fear. He watched as you fought to catch your breath, your face flushed a dangerous red.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice trembling slightly. “I swear, I did not mean to push you too far. I… I apologize.”

He scrambled to his feet, desperation creeping into his gaze. “Tell me, what should I do? How can I help? Is there anything I can do?”

He was genuinely worried, his usual smirk replaced with a genuine vulnerability that was both surprising and unsettling. His eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, were now brimming with concern. He looked like a lost puppy, unsure of what to do, what to say. And you, still gasping for breath, were caught in the middle of it all.