Chapter Text
The Shadow-Cursed Lands should be the ideal place for a vampire. They are creatures cursed to stay in the shadows. And yet here they are and Astarion is not enjoying himself at all.
For one thing, no animals means no hunting and the enemies they face are strange shadow things. So he’s hungry. Ever since that fateful and somewhat awkward night so many days ago (probably not actually that many but he doesn’t feel like counting), Tavlyn has fed him damn near daily (nightly). Delicious and a definite boost, but it’s not quite enough. He’s always supplemented and, honestly, he’s never felt better.
But now, he just has Tavlyn. Who is also on a strict ration because there’s no food. No foraging to be had, no fishing, nothing. Only what they brought, plus the water they summon. The difficult decision was made to leave the owlbear cub and Scratch behind, Tavlyn just about drowning them all in tears. But they were safer in the mountains where there was enough easy prey that they should be able to fend for themselves, for the hopefully-brief excursion. Particularly since Halsin took down three goats and Gale cast some preservation charms, so the pair shouldn’t even need to hunt or leave the cave outside of potty breaks.
This all means that there will be just enough food for the people, by Halsin’s metric, though Astarion has his doubts. If he’s wrong, then they teleport out—between Gale and Tavlyn, they can get everyone back to the Grove to restock. But that means they’d then have to try again, a fact that none of them want to face. And as much as he’d love to complain, he can’t, because he is rather unhappily aware of the fact that actually, he will be fine. He’s starved before. This situation is unpleasant, but it is decidedly worse, for them.
Especially Tavlyn, who is eating for two in the oddest way. He’s yet to stop smiling, even though Astarion can see the bruises around his eyes and the way he pauses for a half-second before getting up. He’s tired. They all are, but him especially. And he’s not the only one who’s noticed. Halsin has been watching Astarion, of late, and it’s a conversation he has no desire for.
“Astarion, would you join me on a walk? I wish to speak with you about something… important.”
Halsin timed it well. Tavlyn’s distracted with Karlach and Wyll and won’t notice them slipping away.
“Of course.” He lies, gesturing for the man to precede him.
It’s a quick walk, just enough to be out of earshot and direct lines of sight. They can’t exactly leave camp, given the hungry shadows visibly lurking. Halsin turns to him and Astarion is surprised to find himself the subject of a thorough visual inspection. Not with any sort of tone to it, just a deep evaluation, and then Halsin nods.
“We have been making good progress. We will reach Reithwin soon and, after that, Moonrise Towers. With the amount of infected present, you should have ample options to hunt.”
“Indeed. I’m looking forward to seeing something besides these endless shadows.” He shifts his weight, fixing Halsin with his own look. “But you didn’t bring me out here to tell me that.”
“No, I did not.” Halsin sits down, which is odd and unexpected. He gestures, inviting, and Astarion sighs as he sits too. “You have hidden it well, but I see that you are hungry and while Tavlyn is a powerful sorcerer, magic can only do so much. He has developed anemia. It is not safe for him to feed you tonight, but he will offer regardless.”
Astarion keeps the immediate irritation off his face. He knew that this is what Halsin wanted, the patronizing ass. Like Astarion isn’t incredibly aware of the fact that Tavlyn would give him absolutely anything, just for the asking. Or not even asking. Just for the “Tavlyn thought it’d help”.
“Not that it is any of your concern, but I have already let Tavlyn know that delightful as his company is, there will be no further bloodletting until he’s had a proper meal or three.”
He may not be a healer, but he is very, very familiar with how Tavlyn tastes. And it has been weaker, of late. It’s not hard to work out that it’s due to the poor diet. Halsin smiles. It is suspiciously friendly. Inviting him to be at ease.
“Yes, Tavlyn told me as much. While I do not share his enthusiasm for pain, I am no stranger to it. If you require feeding, I am willing to provide.”
Astarion stares. Halsin does not seem perturbed by the reaction. Which is good, because he can’t help the instinct to rear back. What are the odds that he meets two overly-kind idiots willing to risk their necks—literally—just for his benefit?
“This is an… unexpected offer. But appreciated, of course.”
Halsin inclines his head. He weighs his words, visibly taking a moment to speak.
“I know that I am still a stranger, but I would like us to be friends. Tavlyn speaks very highly of you, as do the others, and your banter is quite amusing.”
Well. Now he really doesn’t know what to say. Does he feel bad that he’s been mostly ignoring Halsin’s existence? Hm. No, not really, but he’s going to if he keeps doing it. Damn. He shakes it off.
“According to Tavlyn, you are twelve feet tall and clear mountains with but a single bound. He isn’t exactly hard to impress.”
Halsin laughs.
“He sees the best of everything and everyone. It is as admirable as it is worrying.” A pause. “I do not mean to rush your decision, but when Tavlyn notices that we are both gone, he will realize why and come running.” There’s a twinkle in his eye, decidedly playful. “I fear we will be trapped here for many hours should that occur.”
“Oh, you have no idea.” Astarion rises to his knees. It wasn’t really a choice, he knew he was going to accept the minute the offer was made. “Some nights I think he needs it more than I do.”
It is surprisingly easy to slide into Halsin’s lap. The man welcomes him without hesitation, guiding his legs and supporting his back. And, for a minute: damn. He is absolutely huge. Astarion really can’t blame Tavlyn for how he climbs all over him.
“Given how he giggles at even serious injuries, I am inclined to agree.” Halsin cups the back of his head, just holding. “I am curious to feel if his description of this is accurate.”
Astarion hums, tucking into his neck. It’s kind of nice, being held like this. But only because he has the strangest trust that Halsin would not restrain him. He could, easily, and yet Astarion feels no threat. Just warm, cocooned by absurdly muscular arms. Halsin smells quite good, too. Woodsy with an edge of musk, just before the line of too much. Despite the request for brevity (oh no, Tavlyn wants to be fucked into the dirt, what an unexpected and horrible turn of events), Astarion takes his time selecting the best spot. Trailing his lips along thick muscle and feeling the fuzz of body hair (Elf? Body hair? Druids.) It’s not his usual preference but feels right, on this body. Halsin breathes, slow and steady, and Astarion bites.
He almost chokes, it comes so fast. He’d gotten used to Tavlyn’s slow decline, the sluggish response. Halsin’s blood is rich, meaty. There is a definite “bear” to it, a deeper, more primal flavor. He sometimes feels as though he could drink Tavlyn dry and never get tired, but Halsin feels like a few swallows too many will require a long nap to recover. This may actually be because he is, in fact, very, very hungry. He’d been taking the slightest of meals, these past few days, and yesterday, he’d barely bitten down before he stopped. He can tolerate hunger far better than Tavlyn can. But since Halsin offered…
“Hm.” A low rumble, contemplation, and a great big hand begins to stroke up and down his back. “It is not unpleasant. Perhaps more due to the company than the activity.”
His words vibrate through Astarion’s mouth, which is a bizarre sensation. Astarion reaches blindly to press a finger to his lips, mostly. He misses, which makes Halsin chuckle before he quiets. He only pets Astarion, his other hand cradling his head. Which is also oddly nice. Especially with how he’s starting to actually feel warm, for the first time since they got here, and he had forgotten how good that was.
Astarion has to make himself stop. It’s a little past when he’d stop on Tavlyn, during a normal feed, and well before the almost-disastrous first time. He licks the wound clean, earning a pleased hum.
“Are you sated?”
Halsin releases his head, but still holds the rest of him. Astarion considers the question, running his tongue over his teeth to ensure he’d gotten everything.
“Sated isn’t an option here, but I am doing far better than I was.”
Instinct almost takes over—he can feel his body nearly start to move without his input to touch Halsin’s chest, to wriggle in his lap, to beguile and seduce and he has to bite his tongue hard to keep the meal so generously gifted.
Halsin bends and he thinks for a moment he’s about to be kissed, but no. He’s just getting closer, examining Astarion’s eyes. Astarion’s seen him do it to the others, semi-regularly. Must be a bear thing. Because people obey social conventions like personal space.
“You have the same look as Tavlyn does, when faced with kindness.” A simple observation, completely without judgment, and yet it still inspires the immediate urge to run. “And so I will tell you the same as I told him. I have no secret motivations. I ask only for honesty and offer the same in return.”
What the hells do you say to that? Astarion doesn’t even bother fighting the look of confusion.
“I see why you fit so well together.”
He is spared the need to respond by rushing footsteps. Tavlyn bursts into the clearing and barely skids to a stop in time to avoid slamming into a tree. He whirls around, flushed and eager, and Halsin is already laughing.
“Did I miss it?!”
“Is it weird I’m not jealous?”
It’s a genuine question, going off the tone.
“What would you be jealous of, pet? I could drain a dozen others and still have room for you.”
Astarion lounges on the bedroll, watching Tavlyn shrug off his shirt. He’s not sure why he’s here, since he won’t be feeding on Tavlyn tonight, but he’d wandered in anyways. Before Tavlyn retired, technically. By an hour or so. Tavlyn hardly minds, so he dismisses the thought.
“I know, but I still got jealous when you were wondering what the others taste like and you’d only bitten me like, twice at that point.” He struggles briefly with his breast band. Astarion looks away before he’s tempted to admire the soft bounce. “Or when you were teasing Shadowheart about wanting Wyll.”
“Really, darling? I had no idea.”
He remembers the first conversation perfectly. One, because it was hilarious and two, because it marked an important milestone in their relationship: the day Astarion discovered Tavlyn is, without a doubt, the easiest target in all of Faerûn. He’d pouted at Astarion’s musings. It’d taken a decent bit of prodding to make him pay along… and a single forgettable line about leaving to satisfy his hunger elsewhere to have Tavlyn practically rip off his shirt and throw himself at his feet. Ah, memories.
“Don’t lie, you made fun of me for ages.”
“Hm. That does sound familiar, now that you mention it.” Leggings go next and Astarion is permitted to enjoy that fully. “But I don’t recall any teasing about Wyll.”
Tavlyn has grown quite… comfortable, with him. He changes his undergarments, tossing the dirty ones aside with the rest of his clothes, without a shred of self-consciousness. Which is both normal and new; Astarion had noted shortly after they met that Tavlyn had an impressive casual confidence with nudity but then very quickly he became blushing and shy whenever Astarion was near. It seems he’s back to his usual of being entirely unaware of potential reactions to his lithe form and begging-to-be-groped bottom. It’s rather nice, actually. It is a strange yet peaceful intimacy to be watching this without any sexual charge. Just idle appreciation of an attractive body.
“I don’t remember exactly what you said.” Tavlyn is using his ‘lying’ voice. “But it was basically that you wanted to bite Wyll.”
And there is indeed a note of jealousy there, still. Tavlyn stretches, rolling his shoulders and then arching his back. Astarion can’t help but eye his breasts just a little at that. They’re so pert, they fit in his hands perfectly. He’s sure to be looking elsewhere when Tavlyn straightens, shaking out his head. Loosening after yet another day of hard work.
“Given that I have no memory of this, it’s safe to say I was speaking purely to annoy our dear cleric. Probably trying to goad her into saying something foolish.”
Tavlyn approaches the bedroll and Astarion lifts the blanket, hiding his surprise with the action. He is wearing clothes, a sleeping shirt and a loose pair of pants they’d liberated some time ago. But Tavlyn climbs into him with a pleased noise, as though snuggling up to a slightly-warmer-than-death body is the height of comfort.
“You know, I’m suddenly feeling overdressed.” Tavlyn hums, pressing closer in an unsubtle hint that Astarion should be pulling him flush. “Or have you simply forgotten a few steps before bedtime?”
For anyone else, this would be a blatant come on. Crawling mostly-naked into an occupied bedroll? That’s not seduction, that’s a declaration. But Tavlyn’s heartbeat is slow and steady, with unflushed cheeks and non-twitchy ears.
“Halsin did healer-magic-stuff earlier. Something about anemia?” He noses his way into Astarion’s neck and wraps his arms around him. “Skin’s itchy and it’s too hot.”
The usual quip about fleas is quickly pushed down. He is trying to not bring up the missing animals, not until after the surely-tearful reunion. There’s little doubt in his mind that they’re completely fine. Very few people travel the mountain path and those that do know better than to investigate unknown caves. Tavlyn and Gale worked together (minor miracle) to craft a temporary waypoint, so once they’ve finished up all the nonsense with the Towers (hopefully including taking control of the cult), they can teleport directly back and Tavlyn can sob again, but this time in happiness.
“And so our roles are reversed. Rather than you warming me up, I shall cool you down.” He trails a single finger down his spine. “But if you’re naked, then I would like to be too.”
He’s not sure why. It just… feels strange to be fully clothed with Tavlyn not.
It also will help clarify current expectations. Now that he’s fed, he could muster the necessary focus for sex, if that’s what Tavlyn is after. An orgasm or two might make it easier to rest. They’ve both been struggling with that, even if they’re politely pretending to not notice the other’s insomnia.
“Mmk.”
Tavlyn settles in a very clear “do what you want, I’m not moving” kind of way. Which is fine—Astarion has accepted that he will occasionally have to strip down while fighting a snuggle-monster. But even in dire battle with the clingiest creature in all the planes, he can still smoothly remove both shirt and pants with minimal wrinkles so that he can enjoy the feeling of skin on skin. In the weirdest way, because while Tavlyn is immediately hooking a leg around him, it’s just because he wants to be close. It’s clear in the perfectly content little sigh and gentle nuzzle against Astarion’s chest. This isn’t about sex—Tavlyn wants his body not for use but for… for… he doesn’t know but there's suddenly a rush, a flood of something, roaring through him, and he has the odd thought that if his heart still beat, it would be racing.
“Are you really jealous of Wyll?”
“Mm?” Tavlyn had started to doze and Astarion winds his hair around his fingers. A few tugs and he’s annoyed enough to open his eyes. “What?”
“Are you really jealous of Wyll?” Astarion repeats, not adding anything to the sentence because the bubbling nonsense will surely only offer stupidity.
Tavlyn starts to open his mouth and then pauses, apparently thinking. He finally sighs.
“Yes. But… not as much anymore. I think I was just being silly.”
“You certainly were. I’d hardly choose Wyll over you, had the opportunity arose to have him and you didn’t want me to.”
The sentence winds up clunky. He’s still working on understanding what the hell he and Tavlin are. There are days that “And obviously I love him.” echoes in his head like a clock chiming the hour. Then there’s the fact that they still have not defined their relationship as more than just friends who have sex. “Lovers” is a title that is rapidly becoming inadequate, nevermind the complication of Halsin.
“…Is it bad that I really don’t want you to?” Tavlin worries his lip. “It feels mean, especially with Halsin.”
“Halsin is different.” Why, he does not know. But he is, now that Astarion is able to see him with clearer eyes. “I agree about Wyll. I don’t like the idea of you with him either.”
Mostly because between him and Wyll, there is an obvious right choice.
“I guess Wyll is off the list then.” Astarion notes the relief in his voice. “Though, um. If you had to feed on him, that’s, that’s obviously different. You need to eat.”
“But if other options are available, you’d prefer I not bite our dear Blade?”
“…Yeah.”
Interesting. It’s a moot point—Wyll has made it abundantly clear how he feels about the idea. But Tavlyn is noticeably both relieved and guilty at that relief. Astarion keeps his focus on him because it’s that or addressing the other thing and he doesn’t need to identify the emotions to know that he absolutely does not want to address them.
“Since we’re on the subject, what about the rest of our companions? Who’s off limits… and who should I be working on seducing?”
That works to get a laugh. Tavlyn leans in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“I’m not interested in any of the others like that.” Gale will be devastated. Actually, no, he’ll just be depressingly maudlin. Wyll will be devastated. “But I think you should avoid Lae’zal because I’m scared of her.”
“That is a completely reasonable fear. Given that she has only recently stopped pointing weapons at me, I will say she is also off the list.”
“Who’s on it?”
Astarion pauses. It’s the logical next question, but the answer that pops up is. Unexpected.
But Halsin’s generosity—freely given—even though the man is certainly old enough to know what an exquisitely stupid idea it is… Tavlyn is a sweetheart to the stickiest extreme and a naive, trusting fool. Combine that with Astarion being a master of seduction and of course Tavlyn was willing to give blood, even before they knew how much he’d enjoy it. But Halsin, Halsin is not an idiot. Those storm-grey eyes pierce the very core of whoever he chooses to examine. If Astarion had tried his usual routine, then he would have been gently and firmly rebuffed.
Which is just bizarre.
“Oh, I guess it’s someone good!” Tavlyn leans in, eyes dancing, though Astarion can still see a slight uncertainty. “Tell me?”
“It is a… recent interest and I do not intend to pursue it. Not yet, at least.”
Halsin will see right through him. In fact, Astarion should be more careful. He believes that Astarion and Tavlyn’s relationship is built on trust and actual affection and not intentional, selfish manipulation.
Though… maybe it would be okay, actually, given that he can no longer deny the fact that he likes Tavlyn. Not with the aching in his chest when Tavlyn brushes their noses together. Playful, stupid, genuine.
(It’s not the plan and he has to stop. He needs to get some distance and regain control. He was supposed to seduce Tavlyn, heart and body, to ensure his protection and support, and he was not supposed to get attached. Not when Cazador is still around and happy to hurt him in any way possible.)
“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready to.” Reassuring, understanding. “Or if you just don’t want to.”
“It may just be the blood talking.” Astarion says, finally, and Tavlyn’s eyes light up. “Oh, don’t give me that look.”
He says it like he was expecting delight. In truth, he did not mean to say anything at all because a normal person would be upset to have their second stolen. Probably. Presumably. Given that Tavlyn is jealous of Wyll, someone Astarion’s only touched out of strict necessity, he would have assumed Halsin to be similarly off limits.
“Halsin is so good! Isn’t he comfy to sit on?”
“Yes. I can no longer judge you for treating him like a particularly mobile tree.”
Tavlyn giggles, his hand pleasantly warm on Astarion’s back. Not even a shred of jealousy. Perhaps Halsin is different for Tavlyn as well.
“He thinks you’re striking. He’s been hoping you’d come around on talking to him.” A conspiratorial whisper. “He really likes the idea of two predators.”
“A man of taste.” Astarion winds his hair around a finger before tugging sharply. “And you will not be breathing a word of this to him.”
A laugh, even when he pulls again.
“Of course not, ma daoin. Especially since you’re not sure you want it.”
Astarion gives him a look.
“I promise. Not a word or a hint or anything.”
He hums, then releases. Tavlyn leans in again immediately, to brush their lips together. A chaste, reassuring kiss… followed by a second, a hand slipping to his neck to play with his curls. He’s not surprised by the third, but he is surprised to not get a fourth. Instead, he gets another nose-brush and a painfully fond look that makes his chest hurt again.
“Will you come to dinner tomorrow?” Another kiss—is Tavlyn trying to seduce him into it? “I know you usually don’t, but I promise it’s a lot of fun.”
He wants and means to say no. He does. He opens his mouth, the no all ready to come out, and something possesses his tongue and instead—
“Of course, darling.”
—and he kisses Tavlyn.
Shit. The plan is falling to pieces.