[hideprofile]What in the Hells made Astarion believe that flirting with a devil had to be all about sex, Raphael could not even fathom. He of all mortals should have an idea how, after a couple of centuries, the thing could lose all originality. Raphael had been dealing with mortals for far longer than a couple of centuries, and his devil part had never been especially interested in sex in the first place. The sorry vestige of his human parts had other ideas, but, alas, that part was not interested in Astarion as Raphael himself was.

To be fair, Astarion was not a mortal anymore, and Raphael could imagine several ways of spicing up the simple human pleasure that this alabaster body was probably capable of bearing. The ways that would make sex truly entertaining even for a devil. Would Astarion be inclined to try them though?

The answer came when the vampire saw the dagger hanging between them like a bait on a hook, and his first reaction was not to split Raphael's skin with it, but... his own?

Raphael arched his brow, surprised for a moment by a strange turn Astarion imagination took, but then his eyes sparked with the predator joy. Oh, now it was all finally falling into place. Now it was getting exciting!

Raphael rose from his chair, the souls groaning behind him, plucked the dagger from the air and slid closer to his guest. The smile on his face was at the same time amused, relaxed and vaguely threatening.

"What a curiously broken boy," he thought while his fingers danced in the air flipping the dagger this way and that like Astarion himself liked to do in the moments of idling. With each flip, his hand was getting closer and closer to the patch of Astarion's bare skin conveniently exposed through the hole in his brand new shirt. "All the power, all the ambition, all the will to fight and break free no matter the cost, and still there is a part of him that yearns to be broken again. To be hurt."

He could see sense it now — how Astarion's body tensed, how his mind was filling with suspicion, anger, but also anticipation. Was he himself recognizing this feeling inside him, this need? Perhaps yes, perhaps not, but Raphael was certainly recognizing it now. He found his favorite place behind Astarion's back and purred into his ear.

"What if" is the most dangerous question in the Universe, little vampling. The greatest wizards fell victims to its charm, and the greatest atrocities have been committed in its name. Kingdoms fell, planes melted, the unimaginable horrors and living nightmares were created — all for the sake of answering this simple, rather trivial question "what if". And I must admit, now, when you have said it, I can resist its seductive power no more than Carsus could restrain himself from bringing doom to his empire. We have to figure out "what if", don't we?"

He chuckled. He paused. Then his moved his arm faster than even the vampire's reflexes could answer, and drove the dagger under Astarion's collarbone. He did not cut deep, but kept the dagger firmly in place, watching with a genuine interest of a scientist, which probably ran in the family, how the silver blade was starting to glow brighter and brighter. Of all three of them, it seems, the most angry one was the weapon: it was confused as the magic inside it could barely distinguish right from wrong in this strange situation. It even tried to bite Raphael first, recognizing that he was no creation of life either. Raphael watched his palm getting burned with holy light in vague amusement: it actually stung.

But a little itch was no reason to stop such an exciting experiment. Raphael was not interested in the dagger and its rather primitive magic, of course. His eyes and his senses were on the vampire. He wrapped Astarion with his wings again to keep him in place and drank in the pain rising in this beautiful, very strong body.

"And? How does it feel?" He almost growled in his true voice, heavy and menacing. Right now, it also sounded extremely pleased.