“Don’t bite.” The Dark Urge growls, two pairs of red eyes locking onto each other.
“Come now, just a little bite won’t be so bad.” Astarion chuckles before opening his mouth wide, letting a clawed finger slide inside. He laves over the claw, sucking and licking at it as if it was the dragonborn’s co*ck. Perhaps Astarion is hungry or perhaps he simply loses himself in the sensations, but he doesn’t notice at first when his fangs nick at the scaled skin. The claw immediately withdraws, making Astarion look up. The Dark Urge has a strange expression on his face, staring at the bit of blood seeping from himself before bringing it up to lick at it. He then turns his attention back to Astarion.
“Greedy bloodsucker, you just couldn’t resist. Open.” Something in his voice is different, somehow hungrier.
“You know as well as I that I didn’t intend to-'' His flustered sputtering is cut off as the Dark Urge slips his claws back inside, feeling at Astarion’s fangs this time, moving up to trace his claw over where flesh met fang. Before he can react, the claw digs in, tearing at his gums and digging at his tooth.
Shock doesn’t allow Astarion to scream, still in incredible pain from the claw currently tearing his mouth apart. He keeps his mouth open, it isn’t the first time he’s had his fangs removed and he fears what retribution would come if he pulled back. He shuts his eyes, not wanting to see the look of lust in the dragonborn’s eyes. It was easier to pretend he was back with Cazador, that he held no affection for the one currently tearing him open. He presses his tongue down, not wanting that to be torn apart as well.
The Dark Urge was well practiced at the art of mutilation, slipping another claw inside to wrap around the tooth itself, pulling it from the bloody mess of Astarion’s gums slowly. What was left was soft and torn, sliced to fleshy ribbons by precise claws. Tears ran silently down his face as he kept his mouth as still as he could, suppressing his screams.
Astarion can smell the dragonborn’s arousal mixed with the scent of his own blood. He knew that bhaalspawn could have a strong reaction to their own blood, but he’d never seen the Dark Urge like this before. Not with him at least.
The Dark Urge finishes toying with him, finally yanking the fang out by the root. Astarion lets out a choked sound, shaking slightly with pain. Blood flows freely from the hole where his canine used to be, the anticoagulant in his saliva making it all the worse. With his mouth open, he can’t stop the blood from falling from his mouth, only able to swallow what he can. Everything else spills out over his lips, dripping down his chin and staining his fine white garments.
Astarion whimpers softly, his eyes squeezed shut as more of his own blood continues to spill. The Dark Urge withdraws his claws and looks down at the fang in his hand, seeming to consider doing something with it, before simply tossing it to the side. Astarion closes his mouth and tries to swallow more of his blood down. He can’t help himself as his tongue moves to feel where a fang once was. It’s a miracle the Dark Urge hadn’t damaged his jawbone with how much damage he’d wrought on the vampire’s flesh. The tissue is soft, his tongue pressing into it and feeling just how shredded it had become. As his tongue pulls away, it takes some of the flesh with it, so detached from the rest of his jaw that he hadn’t even felt it tear away. Astarion looks up again to see the Dark Urge’s eyes locked directly onto his. He shivers despite himself.
“I didn’t tell you to close your mouth.”
“Yes well, you also didn’t tell me that you intended to claw me open today. So many things you haven’t said.”
“Amusing. Open before I decide to claw open the rest of you.”
Astarion had no doubts that he meant every word he said. He’d seen the Dark Urge kill before, it was practically an art. The delicate way he’d remove body parts, leaving the most essential for last so he could drink in the suffering of his victim. Even when he killed quickly, it was beautiful, a claw to split someone down the middle and let their bowels spill out or teeth snapping shut around a soft neck, severing the head in one clean bite. It was truly something wonderful, at least, when he wasn’t the recipient of that cruelty. He opens his mouth, not wanting to provoke any more of a punishment.
“Good, keep it like that.” The Dark Urge’s claws close around the remaining fang, pulling slowly this time. He scratches around the root of the tooth with his claws, digging at the tissue to make it easier to rip out. The flow of blood worsened, Astarion was beginning to feel sick.
Scratch, scratch, scratch. The Dark Urge keeps a rhythm of sorts, slowly mangling the flesh with each unhurried swipe. It takes every bit of control Astarion had to stay still, knowing the slightest movement would only worsen things. Eventually, the Dark Urge has torn enough flesh away that it only takes the slightest tug to rip out the fang. It hurts. Hot pain blooms through him, somehow worse than the first time. The Dark Urge pulls him into a kiss, his tongue probing inside of Astarion’s mouth to feel at his shredded gums. The Dark Urge pulls back, swallowing the mouthful of blood he’d claimed. Astarion’s mouth is in shreds, tattered flesh and blood dripping from the empty spaces in his jaw.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood.” He can almost see the Dark Urge salivating. “Stay here, let me bring you something to eat.”
“And whose fault is that?” Astarion yells, his words gurgling slightly as more of his blood flows into his throat. The bhaalspawn simply stalks off, not giving him a response. Astarion lets his knees finally give out, collapsing to the ground. He presses a hand to his mouth and screams. When he pulls his hand away, it’s slick with his own blood.
He lays there, his mouth in agony, not paying attention as time passes while he tries to swallow the blood leaking from his ruined gums, not wanting to lose more than he already had.
When the Dark Urge returns, he’s accompanied by a barely conscious looking elf, following behind him without so much as his arms tied. The poor thing clearly had his mind affected.
The dragonborn nods to his thrall. “Go to him. Kneel at his feet and offer your neck.” The man obeys without a second thought. Astarion grimaces, he’d always hated the Dark Urge’s fondness for enchantment. There was no point in refusing, however, it wasn’t as if the man would survive if he simply declined.
“Go on now. Eat.”
“Well, maybe I’d be able to if someone hadn’t ripped out my f*cking teeth. Are you trying to starve me?”
The Dark Urge chuckles. “Always so defiant. I’ll help you eat, Astarion. All you need to do is ask nicely.”
Astarion stays silent, his hatred for begging and his hunger warring inside him.
“Tell me, Astarion. How long does it take for a spawn to regrow their fangs? Do you intend to starve while you wait?”
“It takes… weeks. Cazador had ample opportunity to test that.”
“Is that so? Well, we could always wait it out. See how you feel once you start to starve and hunger and crave.” The Dark Urge’s claws twitch, eager for something to tear into. His eyes fall upon the man currently baring his neck to Astarion.
“I…” He sighs. “What do you want me to say?” It’s humiliating. He’s always hated needing to beg others for food.
“Beg for me to let you dine on his blood. I’ll even open him up for you.” The Dark Urge reaches down to pull the man flat against his chest with one hand, the other sinking into his stomach. Claws dig through the stranger’s body as easily as they had Astarion’s, shredding cloth and skin alike. The man doesn’t respond, the control over his body utterly complete. The smell of his blood is finer than the sweetest incense, calling out to the blood-starved spawn.
The Dark Urge lowers his victim to the ground, clawing open and shredding his abdominal cavity, leaving an open, fleshy hole filled with blood and viscera. “Go on now, all you need to do is ask and it’s all yours.” The victim stays silent, blood burbling up from his mouth as his body twitches in the throes of death.
“Oh benevolent chosen of Bhaal, won’t you please allow me a sip of blood?” Astarion’s voice is hard, not wanting to admit defeat.
The Dark Urge chuckles. “You know, you have more teeth than just those fangs. It’d be a shame if you were to lose those too, wouldn’t it…”
Astarion grits his remaining teeth, trying to ignore the feeling of blood still flowing down. “Please.”
The dragonborn simply tilts his head to the side, seemingly asking him to continue.
“Please may I feed?” Astarion forces a smile, his lips closed. He tries not to run his tongue over the raw spots of flesh in his mouth.
“There you go. Go on now, he’s all yours.”
Astarion falls upon the dead man. His blood is still warm as Astarion presses his face into his abdominal cavity, gulping down mouthfuls of blood and mangled flesh. The Dark Urge watches as Astarion devours his prey on all fours like a beast, all thoughts gone except hunger and bloodlust.
Astarion doesn’t care how much his mouth hurts or how humiliated he is anymore, all that matters is the sweet lifeblood of someone who’d died for him. He makes a mess as he feeds, licking up spilled blood off of the man’s skin as well as from the floor. Soon, he’s left licking the torn edges of internal organs, trying to coax out more from inside the body, as he’s unable to draw more himself.
“Greedy, aren’t you? Do you want more?”
Face soaked in a mix of the victim’s blood and his own, Astarion nods. Nothing matters more in that moment than the sheer pleasure of feeding.
The Dark Urge shoves his hands into the victim’s rib cage, prying it open to rip out his heart. He bites into it himself, sharp draconic teeth easily slicing through the muscle. He lets the blood collect inside his mouth, before pulling Astarion to him and forcing him into another kiss. The blood flows into Astarion’s mouth as he gulps frantically, eager for more blood and flesh to devour.
The Dark Urge pulls back to take another mouthful before pressing back into Astarion, his long tongue pushing the masticated heart into his mouth. Astarion moans at the taste, melting into the Dark Urge’s touch as he eagerly feeds. After the sheer amount of blood he’d lost, being able to drain an entire person is practically a feast. He lets the bhaalspawn feed him, bite by bite, giving him more to devour with each bloody kiss. As his hunger is sated, his reason begins to come back. He feels humiliated, degraded. And yet, until his fangs regrow, this is to be his life. He despises how helpless he feels, yet he can’t help the horrible desire for more. Even in his time after Cazador, he’d never had an entire body free to devour before. It was exhilarating.
The Dark Urge pulls back, his eyes hungry as he looks at the mix of blood staining Astarion’s skin, as well as that on his own pale scales. “Be good for me and I’ll feed you well, dear. Next time I’ll let you drink from a beating heart, let you squeeze it until it stops. You can tear every artery and sip from every vein. The next kill will be yours.”
Astarion nods, unable to bring himself to speak the words.
A bloody grin splits the Dark Urge’s face. “Tomorrow then.”
