Archive of Our Own ^beta

Astarion followed the noise of metal hitting skin to one of the tents further away from all the rest. The scent of blood was not uncommon in camp, but Astarion's nostrils flared at how intense it was the closer he got. It still impressed him just how much of his own blood Abdirak could spill without seeming affected by the loss at all. What a waste.

The newest addition to the camp irked Astarion. He couldn't quite put a finger on why. He cared very little for any of his campmate’s oddities, had enjoyed the show when they had first met him just fine. It had been delightful, even.

But something about having him around all the time now bothered Astarion. Something about hearing him talking about pain like that, like something good and cleansing, something divine . Astarion was no stranger to the pleasure of pain — had even been a voluntary participant in some instances — but he was much more intimately familiar with a different kind of pain, one he still felt every night when he closed his eyes. There was nothing good about it. There had never been.

So hearing about Loviatar's teachings over and over was irritating. Like every other God, she had not come to Astarion's aid. And he had for sure suffered enough to please her.

Abdirak stopped his flogging when Astarion approached, and Astarion grit his teeth at the sight of him. He guessed part of his irritation was not what he said, but the way the man himself did not even have the decency to let Astarion get under his skin. No cruel mockery or cornering question — demand, really — ever seemed to disturb his calm demeanour. It drove Astarion insane. 

"Good evening," he said, looking over his bleeding shoulder with a smile before rising to his feet and turning around.

Astarion was glaring daggers at him. He would prove him wrong. He would crush that worthless faith of his and wipe that serene smile off his lips. He would. If not with words, then with deeds.

"I have come for your offer," Astarion said, not attempting to sound serious at all. He would do this only to be able to spit in Abdirak's face that he was wrong . How all he held so dear, all he was so committed to was for naught. 

Astarion shivered in excitement at the thought. He'd bear the pain for that. Astarion was an expert at that.

Abdirak looked delighted, if a little surprised. "Have my maiden’s teachings piqued your interest?"

Astarion gave a grin that was closer to a snarl. "You could say so." He looked from him to the shrine. "So, how does this work?"

"Just as it did when you watched not so long ago. You can stand at that shrine," he motioned for Astarion to take a step closer, putting some distance between himself and it. "And then we start."

Astarion narrowed his eyes, glancing suspiciously from the blood shrine to Abdirak. He wouldn't back out now, it would be indignant, but he also wanted to make sure Abdirak knew he wasn't trusted. In case he did try anything funny.

Unwilling to get too close to the shrine in his beloved shirt, Astarion first moved to remove it. He had struggled with getting bloodstains out of it more than enough. He turned to look for somewhere less bloody to put it, when he heard Abdirak gasp.

"What is that ?" It was less of a question and more of an appreciative hum, and Aatarion froze, his already cold and empty veins turning to ice. He felt the night air against the scars at his back and he did not have to turn around to know that was what Abdirak was looking at. 

That mild irritation in Astarion's gut flared into wild, hot fury as he whipped around, glared at Abdirak's expression of wonder. "Don't you dare . Don't you dare make that face, have that tone about these! Do you fucking know how difficult it was to hold still? How hard it was not to scream when the dagger plunged in deeper with yet another revision? He got so mad about my poor cooperation, and when Cazador gets mad…" Astarion's jaw was so tight, his teeth gritted, body tense. 

He barely noticed how Abdirak's initial expression had shifted to confusion, and now to a frown. He was barely seeing Abdirak at all. Only Cazador that night, pausing his carving of Astarion's back only to make sure his threats of worse to come if he kept squirming would settle. Astarion was so familiar with that face through his tears he hadn't even realised he had been crying. 

"You think you know pain , Abdirak? I'll show you fucking pain ."

Abdirak was so fast to offer him the mace in his hand at that that Astarion was briefly confused at the ease with which he snatched it from him. He looked eager. Astarion's anger only flared brighter at it, and he gave no warning before his first blow. He hit hard and Abdirak went down immediately. It was a mistake. As long as you could keep yourself on your legs, you could trick yourself into believing you could run. Once you were down, however, all was lost. You would not get up of your own volition and the humiliation of cowering at the blows, at trying to crawl away stung nearly as bad as the violence itself. 

Astarion did not say anything, only brought the mace down again and again. He wasn't aiming, blind with fury and hatred and bloodlust, revenge , and Abdirak's screams barely reached him through it all. Astarion had screamed, too, had screamed and pleaded and prayed so much he was surprised to still find himself having a voice at all sometimes. Nobody had come for him. And the next night, only more screaming awaited him.

Abdirak's screaming stopped after a while. His body did not twitch or flinch at the impact as he lay flat in the dirt, back turned to Astarion. Astarion stopped, panting, exhausted. His arm was sore from the heavy mace, sweat pearling at his forehead. He noticed that his cheeks were wet with tears, and brushed them away with an irritated noise. His throat felt sore. Had he been screaming too?

He watched Abdirak's still form for a long moment. Sometimes Astarion had pretended to have lost consciousness in the hopes that Cazador might stop. It had never worked. To this day, Astarion wasn't exactly sure if that had been the case because Cazador had known he was pretending or if he simply hadn't cared either way. 

Astarion approached the still figure, taking in the horrific bloody mess the mace — Astarion — had made of his back. He poked him with the tip of his shoe, making a grimace at the blood he got on it in the process. No reaction. With some effort, Astarion managed to roll him onto his side without getting his hands dirty. He leaned down, held two fingers below his nose. Held his own breath.

Faintly, he felt Abdirak's breath brush against his fingers. He straightened up again, laid the mace on the ground next to him and moved to leave. He picked up his shirt from the floor as he passed it and slipped it back on as he walked off without looking back.

*

Astarion went to him the next evening. He had not seen or heard of him before leaving camp, but he was unsurprised to find him at his usual spot. As if nothing had happened. Except that his back was a maze of angry red cuts, bruising at the edges, just starting to knit back together. Astarion felt a cruel satisfaction at the sight.

"Did you enjoy last night, darling?" He asked, all cruelty-laced lasciviousness, sure he must have cracked Abdirak a little, shaken his faith. 

Abdirak was serenity itself as he responded, giving Astarion a smile over his shoulder. "I did very much. Thank you, dear one." 

Astarion stood speechless for a moment. He had imagined all kinds of delicious outcomes to this, had revelled in thinking of the tears, the despair on a broken man's face. 

This was not what he had expected. 

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, hiding his tight fists. " Liar . I thought I had killed you."

Abdirak frowned, struggled visibly with getting to his feet, face distorted in both pain and bliss. "I did not bear the pain to the maiden's standards, that is true. And I apologise." He turned to face Astarion, and an involuntary hiss escaped Astarion's lips at the sight of the long, fresh cuts all over his arms. "I have punished myself for that shortcoming, but it doesn't mean you didn't do well, dear one. It felt good, a merciless, cleansing pain that left me refreshed once I came to." He sighed, blissful. 

"You're speaking nonsense," Astarion spat.

Abdirak took him in. Astarion did not like the feeling of being looked at so closely. "But you look better, too, dear one. You enjoyed it just as much, did you not?"

Astarion bristled. "Of course I enjoyed it! I enjoyed the power, enjoyed having you at my mercy to do as I please." Through clenched teeth, " That's what I enjoyed."

Abdirak shook his head. "Power is always tainted. Pain, however, is pure. The maiden—"

"Shut up. I care not for Loviatar as she never cared for me." He grit his teeth, words sharp, poisonous. "Despite my pain ."

"Did you not endure it, dear one? Are you not here?" Abdirak shook his head. "She loves you. And if you only tried focusing on the pain rather—"

"Enough!" Astarion was struggling to fight the urge to close the distance between them and break his neck. "You cannot in good conscience tell me last evening was enjoyable. I did not punish you in your goddess' name, I did it because I could . It was unnecessary pain inflicted, suffering without purpo—"

"Ah, but most pleasures in life are unnecessary," Abdirak's smile turned into a little grin. "You, dear one, strike me as one who understands this quite well."

Despite the anger and confusion, Astarion could not help the twitch of the corner of his mouth at that. He shook his head, mumbled something about Abdirak being crazy — loud enough for him to hear, but still to himself — before turning to leave. 

"Astarion," Abdirak said, not loud, but he used his name so rarely Astarion still halted his steps. "I owe you another apology." A pause, just long enough to make the meaning settle. "Should you ever wish to cleanse that…scar on your back, I will gladly help you." 

Astarion frowned, looked back at him over his shoulder. "Cleanse?"

Abdirak turned the mace in his hand. "Maybe defiling is a better word." He grinned. "We could turn it into something beautiful, a tribute to purifying pain…"

Astarion sighed, shook his head and turned to leave.

*

Astarion avoided Abdirak after that. The whole interaction had left his mind spinning. Abdirak’s reaction to Astarion’ abuse had been outrageous, unacceptable, and yet Astarion could not forget how at peace he had looked when thanking him, could not forget the tone he had spoken in. 

It baffled him. On paper, Astarion was familiar enough with Loviatar to know that it all probably made sense to a follower of hers, but it made no sense to him . The things Abdirak had said were utter nonsense, and still they had lodged themselves somewhere in Astarion’s brain because of how he had said it. So calm. Soothing, when he should have been seething with anger. Or, even better, cowering with fear. 

It would not leave Astarion alone, and he could not come to any conclusions, no matter how much he thought of their encounters. So one night, he found himself following the scent of blood once more, determined to find out something , even if he was not entirely sure what. He guessed he was back to the start, if maybe a bit more…curious than he had initially been. He still did not believe a single thing Abdirak said — taught — about Loviatar’s love, but he could not deny that his strange disposition intrigued him. And he would not know the answers unless he tried finding out for himself.

Abdirak was bent over a book placed on the blood-stained table in front of his tent when Astarion approached. His back was still healing, most of the angry red gone and replaced with an eclectic collection of blues and purples around skin that had knit back together. Bending his back like that was agony. Astarion would know.

He shook his head. “Abdirak.”

He looked up, turned. “Hello.” Friendly as always. “What brings you back to me? Did you think of my offer, dear one?”

Astarion had thought of it every night. He shook his head. “No. Do not touch my back.” He pulled his shirt over his head, ran a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes. “But otherwise…well, let’s say you have intrigued me.”

Abdirak watched him attentively, then nodded. He motioned for him to stand against the shrine, and Astarion had half a mind to refuse out of spite. He did not care for the goddess, and had no desire to spill his blood at her feet. But curiosity won, and maybe he was a little exhausted from so many nights spent trying to make any sense of all this. For once, Astarion followed with no comment.

Abdirak came to a stop across from him, but did not move any further. He was giving Astarion that look again, taking him in. Pondering him.

"What? Do I need to fall to my knees and pray before you can start?" He rolled his eyes. "Prayer is far from a good reason to spend your night kneeling, Abdirak—"

Abdirak laughed, "No, no, do not worry. There is no prayer. Loviatar is worshipped only through pain." He smiled, voice going a little lower in anticipation. "I was just thinking of what to do with you…"

"Is the sight of me flooding your mind with an overwhelming amount of flustering fantasies?" Astarion batted his lashes at him with a grin. "Very understandable."

Unruffled, Abdirak only spared him a short grin. Then he asked, "Do you want something specific?"

Astarion frowned. "What am I being asked? I get a choice in…what? The nature of my torment? The tool?"

"Latter, at least, I can offer. It is usually a choice only given to more advanced initiates but…" Abdirak seemed to consider his words before continuing. "You made it known that you know pain intimately. So I shall make an exception for you."

"How…generous," Astarion mumbled, mildly confused. 

He guessed this wasn't the first time he had been put in charge of choosing his preferred misery. It had only lasted a year, Cazador's strange new game, but in that year Astarion had learned that no matter the weapon he chose, Cazador would find some way to use it that made him regret his choice very quickly. Towards the end of that year Astarion had pointed at random, barely looking at the selection. Refusing to choose had only made everything worse for him.

He exhaled, blinked himself out of the memory. There was no point in choosing. Pain was pain. "I'll have whatever your fresh initiates are given. If I'm bothering to do it, I'll at least do it right."

Abdirak nodded. "Very well."

Astarion closed his eyes as Abdirak turned to retrieve whatever it was he had chosen. He didn't care. He had found out very early on that, while often being unable to see what was happening made the situation worse — the uncertainty feeding into fear and panic because he knew that whatever was going to happen would hurt — the initial shock at the impact or whatever it was often was so great it distracted from the actual pain a little. Or at least delayed it. 

Abdirak hummed appreciatively, "Keeping your eyes shut is a good idea, dear one. It can help with focusing only on the pain without getting distracted…" 

Astarion raised an eyebrow at the strange reassurance. Cazador had not liked him closing his eyes at all.

"I will commence your penance now," the near gentle tone did not stop Astarion from tensing in anxious anticipation. He tried fighting the urge to cover himself, to get away from the promise of pain. He had chosen this himself, and he would not back out now.

The first blow left him breathless, gasping as his chest burned. He blinked his eyes open on instinct, trying to make sense of the sharp metal thing that had just hit him. Abdirak looked positively ecstatic, his mace in his hand.

"The mace? You give your new initiates the mace ?" Astarion gasped, still trying to find his breath again. It hadn't even hurt that much, but the shock, the confusion of this whole situation…why in the hells was he doing this?

Abdirak smiled brightly. "We do. It is a good starting point, really. Covers a lot of ground when it comes to different kinds of pain, don't you think?" 

Astarion frowned, finding it difficult to ponder such things with his chest still stinging from the impact. "Sure. Okay."

"Embrace the pain, dear one. Do not think of what or who is inflicting it, focus on the sting, the burn, how good, how pure it feels," even with that edge of excitement to his voice, his tone still sounded strangely calm as he brought the mace down again.

Astarion flinched, but stayed still, grit his teeth hard as the blow landed. He was trying to listen to Abdirak’s words, if not necessarily because he took them very seriously, but so the pain would not bring him back into high-ceilinged halls filled with his own screams. He kept his eyes wide open, tried to focus on Abdirak’s strange, blissful expression as he hit him. There was no cruelty in his eyes, only ecstatic pleasure, a joy that was nearly dizzying to behold. It made so very little sense when Astarion was used to a very different expression accompanying this kind of pain, hard eyes and a cruel mouth, a voice that made insults and mockery ring in his ears, humiliating him.

Abdirak, on the other hand, filled brief breaks with encouragements and reassurances in that steady voice of his, still smooth even as he grew more animated, trembling only a little with pleasure. And as Astarion’s skin grew tender with abuse, and each new blow hurt more, even though he had had time to brace himself, to get used to it, he thought he could just maybe start making sense of all the incoherent-sounding things Abdirak was telling him. 

When he stopped, Astarion felt both relieved and also disappointed. He was dizzy with pain, his torso feeling like one big sore, blood dripping uncomfortably into the waistband of his trousers. And yet towards the very end, the last blows that had made thinking nigh impossible. As metal hit overly sensitive skin he had felt like he was getting close to understanding, to reaching whatever Abdirak had been describing. 

Still, Astarion was glad it was over. He wiped the tears that had gathered without spilling at the corners of his eyes away, but did not try to move any further, feeling unsteady on his feet. Needing a moment to let his body relax, his jaw unclench from held back noises of pain. His ears were ringing from the pressure.

Abdirak put down his mace before approaching, a delighted smile on his face. “You did well, dear one.”

“I did?” Astarion breathed. “What does that even mean?”

“You bore the pain to the maiden’s satisfaction,” he offered Astarion his hand, which he took, eager to finally have something to hold. He had held his hands in such tight fists for most of this the palms of his hands were full of bloody crescents. Abdirak looked at him as he pulled him away from the shrine, pursed his lips, “If a little too quiet.”

Astarion blinked in confusion, laughed. “Too quiet ? What, you want me to scream for you?”

“Well, I won’t deny the more personal pleasure I would get from it, either.” He grinned, led Astarion to a stool with a washbasin next to it. “But no, you should scream for her. For yourself.” 

Astarion took the offered seat, happy to be off his wobbly legs. Instead of concerning himself with cleaning, he looked up at Abdirak, one eyebrow raised. “For myself?”

“Of course. It is your pain, and does your body not want to scream at it? Does it not want to embrace it, to give into it completely?” He sighed, blissful, “There are no screams as beautiful as those uttered when accepting Loviatar’s love, dear one.”

Astarion frowned, shook his head with a dismissive tsk before turning to the wet towel in the basin. He hissed, the sudden movement adding agony to pain. But he did not want to walk through camp like this, so he went to work despite the ache. 

Abdirak, probably sensing that Astarion was done with talking, retreated to his own corner and started cleaning the mace.

*

If anything, Astarion had more to think about after that night. Most movements made his chest sting as it healed, reminding him of the strange experience. He had not hated it, he thought. It had felt good to know that it was him who had chosen the pain. Even if the pain itself had brought back unpleasant memories. Even if it itself hadn't felt good, no matter how much Abdirak told him it did.

Except at the very end, Astarion had briefly thought it did. When it became so all-encompassing that it flushed out his memories and his scepticism, his mockery, it had felt…well, it hadn't felt bad. It haunted him.

He refused to go to Abdirak about it. He did not want to hear about the welcoming arms of Loviatar. But he also knew that, once he was healed, he would be back.

*

And so it was. The moment bending down didn't pull at tender, healing skin Astarion found himself on his way to Abdirak once more. He wanted to figure this out.

Abdirak did not seem surprised to see him. To Astarion's inquiring eyebrow he simply said, "I had a feeling you would be back." Abdirak rose from his kneeling position and gave him a smile. "What will it be tonight? The same?"

Astarion contemplated this. He had been wondering about the tool choice a lot since last time. He gave a salacious grin. "I think I would rather go for something a little more… intimate this time."

Abdirak raised his brows, a grin pulling at his lips. "Intimate?"

"Well, if you want me to scream, you need to be close enough to hear it, no?" Astarion winked.

A brief laugh escaped Abdirak’s lips. "If you need me close to hear your screams then you are not screaming loud enough, dear one." They regarded each other in silent amusement for a moment, before Abdirak continued, "but take your pick, of course. Loviatar will be pleased to know your interest in different kinds of pain." 

He stepped aside, gesturing towards a shelf containing all kinds of objects. Most of them were weapons, blunt or spiked or ridged, but Astarion's eye did not linger on those that could be used from a distance or thrown. His eyes wandered instead to the daggers, the knives. He picked one up that had a barbed blade, briefly ran his finger across it with a shudder. It was impossible  to forget how much these hurt. He put it back down. 

He picked up a different dagger, blade smooth and well sharpened when he briefly touched it with his finger. It had a good, comfortable weight to it. He turned back to Abdirak and held it out.

"Show me what you can do with this."

Abdirak took the dagger with a satisfied hum. “It will be my pleasure.” 

He motioned to the shrine with the blade, but Astarion held up his hand for him to wait before taking off his shirt again. He did not stop there, though. Last time had been enough of a mess for him to decide to take off the rest of his clothes, too, and, while he was at it, at least make a little bit of a show of it. Abdirak's expression did not change much at it, but Astarion did take notice of how his eyes wandered over him, taking him in. The appreciative glint in them.

"Enjoy what you see?" Astarion teased, brushing a hand through his hair.

Abdirak grinned. "Can't deny it." He twirled the blade between his fingers. "Ready?"

Astarion rolled his eyes, "All business…" before moving to stand against the shrine like last time. Abdirak followed him, giving him that same look he had last time. Working out what, exactly, he'd like to do.

"So much pondering…" Astarion mumbled, tilting his head with a teasing smile.

Abdirak moved close. "You…inspire."

Astarion raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Abdirak breathed, bringing the blade to the sensitive spot right below Astarion's collarbone and pressing it in. 

Astarion hissed, hands turning to tight fists at his side as he fought the instinct to push who was hurting him away. It had never served him well, and yet his body still tried. Abdirak pushed the blade deeper, watching his face all the while, his own eyes big and nearly sparkling with excitement. Astarion's comment died in a gasp on his lips when Abdirak cut downwards.

"You have me so close now and I still cannot hear you scream," Abdirak hummed in his usual calm way before twisting the blade with its tip buried in Astarion's chest. A surprised scream ripped from his throat at the piercing pain, and Abdirak hummed appreciatively, “Good. Does it not feel good? To give into the pain.” 

Astarion was trying to catch his breath, leaning heavily against the wall behind him as he felt a little unsteady at the sudden rush of pain. His own scream still rang in his ears, and he was struggling to swallow the panic coming with it, the fear that came with the anticipation of more pain, of orders to keep quiet despite it. Astarion tensed. He did not know what to make of the smooth-voiced encouragement he was getting instead.

“Do not hold back. Listen to your body, dear one.” The knife wandered further down, and Astarion breathed a little easier for having it finally stop boring into the same spot. It cutting through new skin hurt, too, and Astarion bit his lip to hold back another shout. A whine still escaped his throat. “Let the pain consume you. Your body wants to let it out, wants to share it with the world, with her .” Abdirak’s voice was going low and animated , a near feverish intensity in his eyes as he held Astarion’s gaze. “Embrace it, dear one. There is no need to bite your tongue any longer.”

He drove the knife in a little deeper into the soft spot just above Astarion’s navel, and Astarion screamed, unable and unwilling to hold back. It was terrifying, the memory of the last time he had screamed as a dagger plunged into his flesh still fresh, the threats, the way the blade had just been driven deeper as he failed to keep still and quiet vivid . His back ached as he pressed himself into the wall behind him, panting.

Instead of driving the dagger further in, Abdirak pulled it out. Astarion flinched when Abdirak’s hand got close to his face, but he did not hit him, only brushed the sweat-slick strands of hair out of Astarion’s forehead, touch light, gentle. He blinked, confused, turned to look at Abdirak, who was smiling that familiar, blissful smile of his.

“You are doing well, dear one. Did that not feel better than forcing yourself to swallow the pain?”

He was still petting Astarion’s hair, which would have been odd enough under any circumstance, but was so strange now, when part of him was expecting punishment for disobeying an old order, when he could feel blood trickle down his stomach as he tried to catch his breath. Astarion was speechless.

It had felt better, though. Lighter. It had felt…right. Astarion was dizzy with it.

Abdirak pulled his hand away from his hair, regarded him for a moment. “Was that all for tonight?”

There was no threat to his words, no disapproval in his mannerisms. Astarion was sure the very idea of stopping now disappointed him, but he had no doubt that Abdirak was giving him a real choice to call it a night. What a strange man.

“Please,” Astarion sounded a little more breathless than intended, but pressed on, his usual grin on his face, “We’ve only just started.”

The grin on Abdirak’s face was nearly blinding. He brought the dagger back to Astarion’s chest, let it bite into skin that was still a little tender from last time. Astarion whined, his fingernails scratching against the rough wall behind him, fingers trying to find purchase, itching to hold onto something, to brace himself. Abdirak eventually took one of his hands and guided it to his waist, gasped when Astarion dug his nails into him as he dug his blade into Astarion’s skin. 

Abdirak continued dragging the knife over Astarion’s chest, hand steady even as his repeated encouragements and reassurances grew animated, even when he trembled as Atsarion’s grip on him tightened whenever the knife dug a little deeper, stabbed a spot just a little more sensitive than the rest. Abdirak did not complain of his twitching, the noises spilling from his mouth that made it difficult to carve even just a straight line. His hand would find its way into Astarion’s hair again occasionally, and Astarion leaned into the strange caress, and even as his screams drowned out Abdirak’s praise, he felt good .

*

Later, when Astarion was trying to get most of the blood off his body despite his exhaustion while Abdirak sat cleaning the dagger and humming quietly to himself, Astarion could not stop his eyes from wandering to the bruising on Abdirak’s waist, the bleeding crescents around it Astarion’s nails had left there. He hadn’t mentioned it. Astarion didn’t think he minded, though.

“Would you let me hurt you again? Like that first time,” he asked curiously.

Abdirak looked up from his blade, tilted his head in confusion. “Of course I would. Do you know how difficult it is to get your own back?” Astarion raised an eyebrow. Abdirak smiled. “You do. Well, then you understand how much I appreciated your help.”

Astarion frowned. He really could not understand. “How did beating you unconscious help in any way? You said yourself that it was a…disappointment to your maiden.”

Abdirak shook his head. “But that was not your fault. It takes a long time and practice to know how to prolong pain without your victim fainting. And you are a novice.” Astarion opened his mouth to disagree, but Abdirak held up his hand to stop him. “In a matter of speaking, I mean. You are a…” he motioned with his hand, clearly struggling for an appropriate word, “a dilettante, if you prefer. You cannot be blamed for that mistake.” He grinned. “I, on the other hand, should have endured better than that. But the maiden is forgiving, and I think I have worshipped her to her liking lately.” 

He took in Astarion’s confused expression. Smiled. “But should you want to punish me for that shortcoming, I am sure she would be happier still. And so would I,” he added that last bit with a little wink, and Astarion, mind spinning as it often did after talking to him with trying to unpick his sentences, turned back to his towel with an unintelligible grumble.

*

Astarion itched to return as he healed. There was something strangely…addicting to that feeling he had only gotten glimpses at the last times, that weird…ecstasy that felt like nothing else he had previously experienced. 

Two centuries of pain and pleasure, and a fair amount of both intermingling and yet this was new. Finding pleasure in just the pain, in such severe pain, too didn’t seem correct. But Astarion could not deny those brief moments of bliss he had felt, just when pain had gotten intense enough to blot out everything else on his mind.

He wanted more. And he wanted to take Abdirak up on their last conversation, too. To think that he was supposed to be able to reach that strange state when in charge of the weapon seemed utterly impossible. 

Astarion wanted to try. He felt a little bit like he had that first time he had tasted blood. But without any of the disgust that came with it. He would be back.

*

It became routine. Once healed — at least mostly — Astarion would make his way to Abdirak again. Abdirak always welcomed him cheerfully, and it rarely took long until one of them was screaming in pain and ecstasy.

It did not necessarily become clearer or easier for Astarion. It always took effort to fight off unpleasant memories, to, just for a moment, feel free. Feel pain and nothing else, only his own agony he had chosen himself , his body trembling at blows and cuts he had wanted. He felt light, and maybe a little insane. To be presented with a choice and choose pain all over again seemed absurd, but it felt good.

He struggled even more at the other end, though. Astarion had spent so much time thinking, wishing, dreaming about being the one holding the instruments of his misery and avenging himself, returning what had been done to him in kind and worse, that the surge of power he felt at finally finding himself in such a situation was blinding. 

Oh, he enjoyed it. It felt amazing to hurt as he had been hurt, to hear Abdirak screaming under his abuse. 

He loved it, but he also knew that it was far from pleasure derived from pain. But it was impossible to forget like this, to focus on pain when he had finally, just for a moment, achieved what he had craved, what he had wanted for two hundred years. What he had dreamed of in those dark halls as he lay bleeding and broken and angry , seething, wanting nothing more than vengeance.

It still burned so hot, that anger, that hatred, and sometimes Astarion could not see Abdirak through it all. Sometimes he lost himself in it all. Abdirak never stopped him and never complained, but Astarion despised the feeling of being so thoroughly lost to his past when the point was that he was trying to escape it. For just a moment, at least. This was his choice, and the fact that Cazador still managed to poison it upset him. 

That did mean that every brief moment he did manage to shake off his shadows, every moment when, for just a heartbeat, he was just here , his arms sore with yet another poorly balanced weapon he had wanted to try, Abdirak screaming for more, telling him he was doing good even as he was lost to his own pain and pleasure, was ecstatic , dizzying, nearly brought him to his knees. To bask in the pain he was inflicting without even thinking of Cazador or power was freeing, felt lighter than anything he had ever felt. 

Those moments were brief, briefer even than when he was the one writhing in pain until it took over everything else, but Astarion still chased them all the same. Abdirak seemed more than happy to let him, revelled in every blow and cut, every lash. It was easy to believe all he had said — still said — to Astarion about embracing pain when seeing him like this, blissed out as he twitched and whined for Astarion not to stop. 

It sent shivers through Astarion’s spine, and it made the soreness in his arms feel so very worth it. It made him wish to switch bodies just so he could get a taste of whatever Abdirak was experiencing.

While they could not switch bodies, they could switch positions. And being back on the other side felt good, relaxing after the strain of trying to keep his memories at bay while bringing whatever weapon he was holding down. 

It came with its own demons to shake, of course, the pain often too familiar and then Astarion was lost in labyrinthine halls all over again, except he wasn't in power but was choking on fear. 

But usually, eventually, the pain would grow too great to let him think. It was always a relief, pure bliss. Abdirak had been so right.

*

"Good evening, dear one," Abdirak greeted as Astarion came close. It would have impressed him how the priest had somehow heard him despite being mid-flogging had Astarion's mind not been so thoroughly occupied. Terrified.

Clearly, it was obvious in his face because Abdirak's expression quickly turned from his usual welcoming smile to a concerned frown as he rose and turned around towards him.

"Everything alright, dear one?"

Astarion looked at him for a long moment in silence. He wanted to do this. Right? No matter the cost. 

"Your offer…the first one you made to me." He took a deep breath. "Does…does it still stand?

Abdirak did not take long to remember what Astarion was referring to. He nodded, set his mace down to approach. "You want to try?"

Astarion nodded, removed his shirt.

"Can I take a closer look?" Abdirak asked carefully.

“Why?” He eyed him suspiciously.

“Just to get an idea of what might cut through the scars…they seemed pretty thick, from the glances I have gotten.”

Astarion relaxed, if only a little. “Oh. Okay.” 

He hesitated, but turned around. Held his breath, tensing when he felt Abdirak lean closer.

“Alright.” Abdirak straightened up again and waited for Astarion to turn around. “What would you like me to use?”

Astarion inhaled. He had thought about this. Excessively.

“Not the dagger, if possible.”

Part of him had wanted to choose it out of spite, to put himself through that exact same experience again but have it be his choice, his pain. But Astarion was genuinely unsure if he would be able to go through with it. The memory was seared so clearly into his memory, he could scarcely imagine finding his way beyond it, focusing on the pain rather than the ghosts of his past. It had, after all, been the starting point to his two centuries of pain and misery.

Abdirak nodded. "I think I can get through with my mace. The blades should be able to cut these…" He sighed. "No promises, though. But it will for sure get the skin around and between and then…" He smiled. "It will still be cleansed. Unrecognisable, I hope."

Astarion let those words settle. Despite having put so many hours of thought into it, he still found it difficult to believe this. He had never even seen those scars on his backs and still he had not once stopped feeling them. They ached sometimes, even after all this time. And even when they did not, Astarion knew they were there. He'd feel the scarred edges when he washed, he'd dream of that long, long night spent begging for Cazador to stop. The blade had only been driven deeper, the carving only taken longer. He had spent countless hours since that night attempting to read it, to make sense of the lines on his back with his hands. 

It haunted him. Those scars branded him as property. To imagine them defiled, changed…it seemed impossible. He did not even dare to entertain the fantasy. 

Astarion nodded, feeling a little breathless. "Alright. I…I want to try."

Abdirak smiled, motioned for him to stand in the usual place. Astarion divested himself of his clothes before doing just that, comforted by the familiarity of it all. He hesitated before turning around. Watched Abdirak as he picked up his mace, got ready. 

Abdirak gave him a reassuring smile. "Will you turn around for me, dear one?"

"Okay," Astarion mumbled. After another brief moment of hesitation, he did.

"Are you ready?"

Astarion nodded, put his hands against the wall, braced himself. He closed his eyes, tense and trembling with…anticipation? Dread? He still struggled to distinguish them sometimes.

The first blow landed hard and something caught between a scream and a sob ripped from his throat as his body lurched with the force. 

Abdirak's steady voice somehow still reached him despite his own sobbing, his heaving for breath. "Good, dear one, give in. Let the pain consume you. Let her hear your suffering."

Another blow and Astarion cried out, hands trying to find purchase on the rough wall in front of him as his whole body trembled, his legs struggled to keep him up. It hurt , and the pain was so different and still, still Astarion could feel the phantom dagger drag so torturously slowly through his back, could still hear the sharp threats at every twitch of Astarion’s body, at every noise. 

At the third blow Astarion fell to his knees, choking on his own tears. He pressed his forehead, slick with sweat, into the wall, tried to focus on the burning, the stinging of his back, the feeling of blood flowing down it, making the hairs on his arm stand up. There had been so much blood that night, and Astarion had hated the feeling of it on his skin, had hated that voice, his voice, always, always there, always reminding him that he was his—

“More!” He sobbed, unsure if Abdirak had stopped or if he had simply gotten too lost in memory. “Do not stop!”

Another wave of pain, sharp and bright as the impact made him twitch, scream, ripped him from the nightmares in his head. Briefly, only for long enough to draw a breath, but it was bliss in agony and Astarion could not let it stop .

“I would not dream of stopping, dear one,” Abdirak brought the mace down again, harder, and Astarion yelped, coughed against yet another sob stuck in his throat as he shook. “Not when you are doing so well. So good .” He was starting to sound breathless, and Astarion could envision the ecstasy in his eyes even without seeing them, tone and expression so familiar now. “Do not think, dear one. Feel. Feel your pain, feel her love .”

The mace came down again, and some of Astarion’s nails broke trying to dig into stone as the impact shook him. He barely noticed it, the pain in his back so great, his hands already so wet with sweat he did not feel the blood. It was exquisite, that brief moment when everything was white hot agony, his eyes blind and his ears ringing with it, and he felt finally, finally alone, his own . 

It passed so fast, and Astarion did not want to be in that crypt again. He never left it. He knew.

“Please!” Astarion sobbed, begged, demanded . “Continue!”

He choked on the last syllable as the mace cut into his flesh again. A breathless, pained laugh escaped him. Two hundred years of begging and pleading had gotten him nothing, and now he could barely finish speaking without getting what he asked for. 

And if what he asked for was really just the same he had tried so desperately to stop, to escape, it did not matter , because he had put himself in this situation himself , had chosen it himself . And so he begged for more, and screamed until he tasted blood, until the tightness in his chest loosened up. And the voice in his ears was feverish, urgent reassurance and praise, and Astarion would have laughed if he had not been still choking on his tears.

*

Astarion did not know when it had all stopped. The quiet startled him. He was so loud, panting and crying, whining, shaking bad enough to make his teeth clatter. There was nothing beyond his own ragged breathing, air burning his shredded throat at every inhale. His bleeding fingers and sore knees. The agony of his back, nearly hot, pulsing. Maybe this was what it had felt like to be alive. Astarion did not remember.

He did not remember when Abdirak had stopped, but he knew it must have been a while ago. When had he last screamed from the actual impact of the mace? He had screamed after, still. And then he must have stopped, but he did not know when.

He felt faint. Nauseated. Exhausted . It was strange to feel so much, to have all of these things return when he had felt nothing but pain, pure and blissfully all-consuming agony. 

Astarion could not move. Too sore, and if breathing alone was already causing him so much trouble, so much pain , he could not fathom trying to change his position. The wall was still cold against his forehead. He had nothing to warm it with. Even the blood spilling from his roughed up skin there was far from warm. It hurt. He whimpered.

Abdirak hummed tunelessly somewhere beside him and Astarion twitched, too weak to jump in alarm.

"It's just me, dear one. Do not worry." He spoke quietly, voice rough with use. He had gotten loud towards the end, too. 

Astarion tensed briefly at the feeling of his hand on his head. Abdirak did not move it, let it rest flat in his hair until he relaxed again. Then he started caressing carefully. Slowly, Astarion felt his trembling cease at it, felt his body relax.

"How do you feel?" He mumbled eventuality without interrupting his gentle brushing.

Astarion thought about it. He watched his tears hit the ground below him, and wondered. How did he feel? He felt like his body was one big agonising sore. His chest, however, felt lighter than it ever had. 

"Good," it came out a broken chuckle.

"You should. You did wonderfully, dear one." He sighed blissfully. "That was amazing. You sounded like the maiden herself as you demanded more…" he sounded nearly flustered.

Astarion would have laughed or grinned, but as the fingers in his hair calmed his trembling, he felt the need to see . "What does it look like?" He asked with an urgency that made him start trembling all over again. Not in exhaustion, but in excitement.

Abdirak did not stop his caressing. "It is a little difficult to see through all the blood…"

"Don't just use your eyes," Astarion snapped. Begged, "Describe it to me. Please."

Abdirak hummed delightedly. "Oh…very well." 

Astarion choked on a gasp at the feeling of Abdirak's free hand coming to his tender back. He blinked urgently against the black spots in his vision as Abdirak's fingers started tracing the burning, aching cuts. He couldn't pass out now. He needed to know .

Abdirak's steady voice described the paths his fingers took through blood-slick trails, and Aatarion tried to not whine and whimper and hiss so loudly with pain, wanted to hear . Needed to know. He forced himself to stay still even as his body wanted to thrash away from the touch, from more pain to what was already agony. 

He started sobbing again when Abdirak said that the scar had been cut through in some places, didn't know if he was crying or laughing by the time Abdirak pulled his hand away. His other never stopped caressing his hair and Astarion focused on it to calm himself again as the fresh pain started to fade once more. He was so dizzy. He still could not move, and the ground below him was starting to turn.

"We should get you clean. May I do that, dear one? You can stay a little longer that way. Moving will not be easy." 

Astarion could not fathom moving, so he nodded carefully. The blood was starting to dry against his skin and he could start feeling that uncomfortable, familiar stickiness. 

"I will be right back." 

Aatarion missed the feeling of his hand in his hair the moment he pulled away. It was grounding. He felt too light without it. He tried to focus on the noises behind him instead, tried to listen as Abdirak filled what he assumed must be a bucket with water. Walked back for something — towels, maybe — before his steps started to sound closer again.

He knelt down next to Astarion, and his hand was back on his head, his voice close to his ear. “I will start now. Do not bite your tongue.”

Astarion tried to laugh, but it came out breathy, a broken exhale. “Hells, you are insatiable , aren’t you?”

A quiet chuckle. “I did mean that literally. I saw you doing so when I traced the wounds.” He wrung out the towel. “It would be a shame if you’d bite off that sharp tongue of yours. Although…” He leaned down so Astarion could get a glimpse of his face, the hungry delight in his eyes, “Should you still have it in yourself to scream, dear one…well, I can’t say I wouldn’t enjoy it.”

Astarion laughed a little more successfully this time, but it dissolved into coughing with his throat so raw. Abdirak pet his hair before straightening up again, and going to work on his back. 

Astarion gasped, the cool cloth soothing against his raw back but also painful as Abdirak started running it down over gaping wounds. Astarion did not scream, but a myriad of strange pitiful noises spilled from his lips as he struggled to stay still, wanting to push away from the horrible pain. His back felt like one big open wound, and even though Abdirak’s fingers had hurt this somehow felt so much worse . 

Astarion was reaching his limit, skin too sensitive from the night’s abuse, his body and mind exhausted from it all. Black spots filled his vision again as Abdirak continued and it was taking Astarion all his focus to try and stay put, he could not fight incoming oblivion, too. The last thing Astarion felt was Abdirak’s hand coming to his chest, bracing him, before darkness took him.

*

Astarion groaned as he tried to blink his eyes open. The disorientation did not last long, the overwhelming pain in his back reminding him quickly of where he was. He must have passed out after all. 

"Are you awake?"

He realised he wasn't in the same position anymore. He was lying down, something soft beneath him. He tried to brush some hair out of his forehead and realised his hands were bandaged. The movement hurt. He could feel gauze around his torso, too, edges biting into his skin a little.

Abdirak's familiar hand brushed the offending hair away despite Astarion already having forgotten about it in his confusion. He strained to turn his head up to see him. It was difficult with him lying on his belly.

"I am sorry about your hands, dear one, but you left them in quite the bad state. You should really reconsider the shackles. I promise they would make things easier for you."

Astarion's mind was swimming with these words that seemed completely devoid of sense. He hurt. He didn't think he would ever leave that wall again. Where was he?

"Wh…what happened?" His voice sounded even more scratchy than it had earlier.

Abdirak hummed, still petting his hair. "You lost consciousness, which made cleaning you up very difficult. I did my best, and then I dragged you somewhere a little more comfortable and dressed your wounds pretty badly. But you weren't particularly co-operative, so I think it came out quite good, all things considered."

He was still smiling. Blood stained his face. Astarion frowned. "But… where am I?"

He tried to look around but hissed, turning his head only pulling at something in his back. Abdirak made an appreciative noise.

"On top of my bedroll. I didn't drag you far. You're rather heavy and I was very tired." A brief pause. "How do you feel?"

"Miserable," Astarion chuckled. Then winced when the movement only made the pain worse . He wished he could see his back. It hurt so much. He wondered what it might look like. "Do you think…it really worked?"

"If you don't see a healer about these, they should heal about as ruggedly as the original scars, I think. They won't blend perfectly but…" Abdirak gave him a sincere smile. "I did not lie to you. I made a mess of it."

The relief at these words said in such an honest tone was nearly enough to make fresh tears gather in his eyes. He didn’t dare believe what he was being told. But he also didn't think Abdirak was lying. 

"Thank you," It came out a rasp, and Astarion was too tired to be embarrassed by his desperate, relieved tone. "Thank you," he mumbled again, hoping it sounded half as grateful as he felt. 

Abdirak only nodded with a smile, his hand still in Astarion's hair. The silence that fell between them was a comfortable one. Familiar. They had sat like this often enough after a night of penance, each in their own thoughts, but not quite ready to part ways.

It was usually an easy silence, one Astarion had quickly learned to appreciate. But he couldn't really relax tonight. The pain in his back was more severe than anything before. It reminded him of how he now had a debt to pay, which nearly managed to dull the relief at it having worked completely. He had been well aware, of course. Nothing came for free, even though Abdirak had not spoken of his payment yet.

"Abdirak?" Astarion eventually mumbled, wanting the topic off his mind.

"Hm?" He didn't turn to him, still lost in his thoughts.

"What about payment?"

That made him look at Astarion, brows furrowed in confusion. "Payment?"

"You helped me."

He smiled, still looking a little confused. "Oh, but it was my pleasure, dear one, you know that. I never wanted more payment than being allowed to give you this penance." 

Astarion frowned. Why was he lying? "You…don't want more?"

"I am insatiable , as you put it, but I think tonight satisfied me for a little while. At least until you're all better and want to go again," he added with a wink.

Astarion was confused. Was he not listening? Or did he want Astarion to go through the humiliation of stating Abdirak's price for him? Some had always liked that. It made it easier to twist things around after and make him feel more disgusted with himself.

"But…don't you want something in return?" He pressed on, hoping he wouldn't have to ask himself. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Don’t you want me?"

"No," the answer came swiftly after the briefest moment of confusion. It left Astarion startled, speechless and confused. "I wouldn't mind sleeping with you, if that is what you want, but I prefer Loviatar’s pleasures to those of sex." He made a vague waving motion with his hand, as if waving away an expected response to his statement. "Easily combinable, I know, but I find one always distracts from the other, don't you think?"

This was all wrong. Astarion didn't understand.

"Then why did you help me? Why…what were you hoping to get from offering your assistance?"

"I wasn't 'hoping' to get anything. I knew I would get an amazing time out of it if you agreed." He grinned fondly. "I wasn't expecting you to be quite so…eager, and to return over and over again, but it was a most delightful turn of events." 

He sighed, blissful, looking like he was pondering happy memories. When he turned back to Astarion, a deep frown took the place of his content expression. "Did you think I was trying to get you to fuck me this whole time?"

Why was he making it sound like such a strange assumption? It's how it always went. Everything was but a transaction. Help was never provided without a catch.

Astarion frowned, "Well, I don't know…people don't just help me."

"And I did not 'just help you'. I probably got more out of our nights than you did." He grinned. "It was a win-win, as far as I was concerned. You would feel better and I would feel good. We'd both be in pain. That's all I need, dear one." Again, he ran a hand through Astarion’s hair. "Unless you want more. I am not opposed, just not inclined to."

None of this was making any sense. Astarion was starting to wonder if he was having a strange dream. Maybe the catch was something else, something he couldn't even fathom in his exhausted state now. Maybe Abdirak was waiting for the right moment to make his demand. Astarion didn't know, and he was too tired to try and force it out of him tonight. 

For now, he would embrace the relief of being turned down. "No," he mumbled, "No, I'm fine like this, too."

It felt dangerous to say it. Like Abdirak might only be tricking him. Like he would say he changed his mind or mock him for believing him in the first place or—

"Wonderful," Abdirak sighed, giving him a smile. 

Astarion felt himself relax, even if he still didn't quite believe this. But he was so tired, and Abdirak seemed in no rush to settle the matters of recompensation. So for tonight, Astarion thought, he could allow himself to believe it, could let himself relax without thinking of it. That would be nice.

"Sleep, dear one," Abdirak mumbled, his hand back at Astarion's hair. 

The caress was doing little for Astarion's struggle to keep his tired eyes open. He wanted to ask Abdirak why he kept doing this, what he expected in return for all this gentle caressing. What left his lips was an incoherent mumble before sleep finally took him.