Archive of Our Own

Astarion felt like his skin was on fire.

He sat at the furthest edge of camp, away from everyone, taking deep and trembling breaths. He’d started feeling the effects of the spores an hour ago, long after they’d left the Arcane Tower and made their way back to the surface. Cazador had always called him too curious for his own damn good, and now Astarion had gone and proved him right.

He tried to drink from the flask Tav had given him. Water dribbled down his chin and into the dirt.

Damn it all.

Footsteps, then. Gale, Tav — and the druid. Halsin’s bulky form blotted out the light from the campfire, as Gale began to explain what they’d learned. Astarion wasn’t really listening.

“—is what the mushroom is called. There were some notes on it back at the tower. Truly fascinating research, honestly.”

“Gale,” Tav warned.

“Ah, yes. Right. The point.” He cleared his throat and suddenly went a rather bright red. “Well. The toxins from the spores will work their way out of your system in due time. The book we found says forty-eight hours.”

Astarion choked on his water. “Two days?”

“Yes,” Gale said. “But we did find a possible solution. There is…well. It’s hardly elegant, but it makes sense, I suppose. The sort of rush of blood and sweat brought on by exertion. The book doesn’t explain it terribly well, but it seems they did actually test the theory—”

“Sex,” Tav said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The book says you should have sex. Or at the very least a few orgasms.”

Astarion stared. “...What?!”

“Well, if you read the notes—”

Astarion wrenched the blasted book from Gale’s hands. “You’re fucking joking,” he snapped, flipping through the pages. He looked at Tav, then Halsin. “Tell me he’s joking.”

“He isn’t,” Halsin said, “but I do not believe it’s necessary. If we simply—”

“No one’s going to make you,” Tav said quickly. “But this is the quickest way of dealing with this.”

Astarion took a few moments and scoured the book. He wanted to find a place where perhaps Gale had been mistaken, or an annotation that proved him wrong.

But he was right. Chronically and tragically so. Astarion’s hands shook with a tremor that wracked his body, and the book tumbled to the ground.

Gale quickly bent to pick it up. “We could, ah. Give you some privacy…”

“I’m not doing it.”

Tav sighed. “Astarion—”

“No. I won’t do it.”

“Very well. We’ll find something else.”

“If I may,” Halsin said, following after them. He began to speak, too low for Astarion to hear, and they were walking away.

Their camp sat at the edge of a lake, and each time the wind blew, it pushed a gust of cool air off the water and towards his feverish body. Astarion moved closer, shivering, unsure if he wanted to be hot or cold. If the point of the mushroom was climax, it had certainly begun doing its job. He began to feel his cock swelling in his breeches, pressing uncomfortably against the fabric.

It wasn’t like he was advertising his decision, he realized. His choice. After Tav had turned him down at the party, Astarion had to sit with a feeling he hadn’t felt in years — relief. Relief that he didn’t need to perform, or put on a show. Terror had settled in soon after, but when he wasn’t ejected from the group, when people shared their wine and when Karlach brought in a fresh kill for him to feed on, he’d dared to feel something else, too.

Comfort. He’d lived two hundred years without it, and even though the ground was hard and the wine was shit and the company was atrocious — Astarion had never been so comfortable in his life. He could get used to living this way, truth be told.

And now, it’d been wrenched away from him again. By a fucking mushroom. He wished it was here, so he could stab it, cut it into a thousand pieces and toss it into the water.

He didn’t want to have sex, not with anyone. And he didn’t want to touch himself either. Astarion hadn’t done that for his own pleasure in decades, he wasn’t even sure he knew how anymore. He palmed at his erection without thought, wincing as a wave of pain washed over him, followed by a hot rush of pleasure. It made his stomach churn.

“Astarion.”

“Fuck!” He swore and spun around, finding the druid standing there, arms laden down with…things. “What?” he snarled. “What do you want?”

“I’ve come to assist.”

“ Ha! Assigned to pity fuck duty, were you? You can go back and tell our illustrious leader I’m not interested.”

Halsin shook his head. He was far too patient for his own good. “That’s not why I’m here. Please, may I come closer?” Astarion hesitated, then nodded. He moved to hide the obvious bulge in his pants, but Halsin only looked more concerned. “It’s begun to take effect already?”

“I…yes. I think so.”

“You’re sweating quite profusely. Do you mind the cold water?”

Truthfully, cold water seemed like a blessing he didn’t deserve in that moment.

“I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you can.” Halsin sat down by the edge of the lake and took a set of clothes from the collection in his arms. “We are out of sight of the others, and they have promised not to disturb you. Why don’t you undress and bathe yourself? Here—” He tossed a small bag toward Astarion. A bar of soap. “It’s hardly a Calimshite bathhouse, but it will have to do, hm?”

“Been to many bathhouses in Calimport, have you?” Astarion asked, standing on trembling legs and beginning to undress.

“Enough to know what I prefer.” Halsin turned and busied himself building a small fire by the shore, giving Astarion his privacy.

The water did feel good, even as it chilled him to the bone. Another shudder rumbled through him as he ran the bar of soap over his body. He hadn’t realized how much he’d sweat, he’d been so angry. His cock was still hard, but the cold water dulled the unwelcome desire trying to overtake him. Astarion slipped beneath the surface and closed his eyes.

Everything came to a quiet, gentle standstill. He felt like a stone as the water lapped overhead, sinking down, down, down. Pale and white and settling. Maybe he’d just…stay here, he thought. Forever.

Then the druid would worry, he answered himself, which wasn’t a concern of his previously, but the idea of Halsin in distress suddenly made Astarion uneasy. He’d been nothing but kind, from the moment he arrived. There was no reason to punish him for it, even if punishment was one of the only languages Astarion really knew.

He came out of the lake, shaking and shivering, teeth chattering like piano keys. A blanket and a set of clothes was waiting for him. Astarion dried himself quickly and pulled on the shirt and trousers, padding barefoot towards the fire.

“Better?” Halsin asked. He was cooking something for himself. The blood was set aside in a small bowl. Astarion took it as he sat down.

“Depends on your definition of better, I suppose. I no longer feel like I’m on fire. For now,” he added. Halsin nodded and adjusted the rabbit he was cooking over the fire. “I thought you might not eat meat,” Astarion said. “Balance of nature and all that.”

Halsin made a soft noise. “You are not the first to assume. If a wealthy man grows a beautiful garden, but he builds a great wall around it, how does he serve nature? Its bounty was meant to be shared. You take the creature’s blood, I consume its flesh. Together, we continue the cycle of harmony.”

Astarion paused before he drank from the bowl. “...How poetic.”

“Ah, well. Any poetry you experience from me is purely coincidental. I have no talent for the written word.” Halsin took a kettle from the fire. “I’ve made a tea for you.”

“I don’t drink tea.”

“Perhaps you will give it a chance this evening.” Halsin poured off a cup. It appeared wine-red in the moonlight. “Your fever has subsided, but it will return. This is a tea made of feverbalm and a handful of other herbs.”

“Which herbs?” Astarion asked.

“Dathlil and trueroot. Each is effective against toxins and poisons.” He passed the cup to Astarion.

Astarion held tight to the little bowl of rabbit blood. Halsin continued to hold the cup. Behind them, a creature startled in the grass.

“I’ll place this here,” Halsin said, setting the cup on a flat stone between them.

“I suppose it’s better to drink it hot?”

Halsin chuckled. “No. It tastes terrible no matter when you drink it. But it will help, Astarion. I promise.”

Astarion regarded the cup. He’d have liked to have seen the drink made in front of him, but at this point he was beginning to feel dizzy with fever. It felt like it was seeping deep into his muscles, brushing against his bones. He hadn’t had a fever like this in…in centuries.

Not since I was a boy, he realized, struck by the memory of being bedridden when he was quite young, his mother hovering in the doorway as a healer tried to persuade him to remain with the living. He could feel the moment clearly, until he tried to conjure his mother’s face.

The memory blurred. Astarion took the cup and drained it in one go.

“Ech—” He coughed and sputtered, tossing it away. “That’s wretched!”

Halsin smiled. “I did warn you,” he said. “Here.” He passed Astarion another cup.

“No. No more.”

Halsin sighed. “It’s wine,” he said. “Watered down, I don’t want to start mixing poisons. But you deserve something for yourself.”

Astarion looked into the glass. “Did you do this to one of the good vintages?”

“I don’t pretend to know what that might be. I asked Wyll and he said you’d enjoy this.”

Astarion sighed. “Well, he’d know I suppose.” He took a tentative sip and watched Halsin stoke the fire. “So. You’ve dealt with this sort of thing before then?”

“Yes.”

“I—really?” Astarion was surprised. “Bit odd, wouldn’t you say?”

“I lived in the Underdark, for a period of time. When I was a much younger man.”

Astarion huffed. “Hard to imagine you living in a place like that.”

“Mm.” Halsin, suddenly uncharacteristically quiet, poured a cup of a different tea for himself. “It’s a…foolish story, but I was once tasked with caring for a drow who had become afflicted with a similar condition.”

“Did you make them tea, too?”

Halsin shook his head. “I did not.” He turned his gaze up at the night sky. “If I mistook you for a faithful man I’d say the light of the Moonmaiden seems to be guiding you through this tribulation.” He smiled. “She certainly is bright this evening.”

Astarion glanced up. “It’s a rock,” he said. “And I won’t tell Shadowheart what you said,” he added.

“Good lad,” Halsin said. Astarion looked away.

The tea seemed to have done its job regarding the fever. Astarion still had chills, but he wasn’t nearly as hot in his own skin anymore. The aching, though. A sudden rush of want that did not belong to him — that was harder to diminish.

Halsin could tell. He glanced over. Astarion had his head in his hands, focusing on the flames, watching bits of wood glow bright and fall into the ash pile beneath.

“Another log, I should think.” He tossed more wood on the fire and sighed. “There is no tea in the world that will cure what currently ails you. What Gale said remains true. It will be the quickest path to relief.”

“But you said—”

“I know.” Halsin raised his hand. “I know what I said. And I stand by it. There is no reason to have you do anything you don’t wish to do.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“You must relax. You must reach a place where you can think beyond the desire. It isn’t meant to be there, not like that, but it is within you. We must get your body to a place that is separate from it. I could give you a massage—”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Or you could meditate with me. I will burn dried feverbalm and we may both enter a trance, the way you do when resting. But it will be deeper, more focused.”

Astarion sighed. As quick as he’d been to dismiss it, being touched didn’t sound like the worst idea. But he didn’t want hands on him, even if they were…those hands. He eyed the swell of Halsin’s knuckles, and the wide, dry breadth of his palms. They were probably always warm. Astarion shivered.

“I don’t have to drink anymore tea do I?”

Halsin chuckled again. “Not unless the fever begins to take you again. Come—” Halsin stood and walked away from the fire, which seemed like a terrible idea, but Astarion grumbled and followed all the same. Halsin sat down again by the water’s edge. He was barefoot, Astarion realized, and there were scars on the soles of his feet, pale and risen.

“How did you—” He stopped himself. “Nevermind.” He sat up and closed his eyes. Trancing was easy, he did it every night. It’d been an adjustment, since he’d formerly tranced midday back in the city, just until sundown. Sleeping in the dark was…novel, and strange. And beautiful, too. The feeling and sunlight just on the other side of your eyelids, the dawn beckoning.

Gods, he would miss it when it went away.

Smoke curled in the air between them. Astarion watched as Halsin took a bundle of dried herbs and drew sigils in the air. He placed the bundle on the ground as it continued to smoke, and rested his hands on his knees. Astarion mimicked his posture and closed his eyes.

Trancing wasn’t a challenge, but he didn’t usually have poison coursing through his veins, and he wasn’t typically flooded with intrusive thoughts of desire. He peeked through one open eye to find Halsin looking quite composed. The moonlight struck him in a handsome way, and the smoke softened his normally stony features. Astarion made a mental note to consider all of these things later, when a sex-crazed fungus wasn’t attempting to take control of his body, and closed his eyes again.

He focused. Inhaled the scent of feverbalm and the smell of freshwater rushing in after the gentle breeze. Woodsmoke and cooked meat followed it. Distantly, he could hear laughter. At least someone’s enjoying themselves, he thought, but then, in a strange way, so was he. It was miserable, of course. This entire experience was awful and he would give anything to wind back time and simply not touch the blasted thing.

But…still.

Still.

He inhaled deeply. Feverbalm filled his lungs and soothed his frayed and savaged nerves. This is nice, he thought. Very nice. Maybe he’d try this again sometime. There was something to be said for slipping away, gently and carefully into a comfortable abyss that he could actually come back from. Astarion exhaled and felt time pass while also feeling nothing at all. Everything felt muted and distant, like it was happening somewhere far, far away from him.

Eventually, he felt his own mind come back to him. He opened his eyes and found Halsin still in his trance, but swaying a bit back and forth, his expression calm and content. He opened his eyes a few moments later, and met Astarion’s gaze.

“That was quite nice.”

Astarion nodded. “It was. I…how long did we do that?”

“It’s hard to tell.” Halsin peered at the horizon. “But sunrise does seem to be upon us.”

“Sunrise? Are you joking?”

Halsin shook his head. “I’m not.”

Astarion sighed. “Of course not. Doesn’t seem like you ever do.”

“I joke,” Halsin insisted.

Astarion lips twitched with a smile. “I will believe that when I hear it, druid.” He stretched and sighed. He realized then that the desire, so strong and persuasive before, had greatly diminished. Instead of a waterfall, it felt more akin to a creek or stream. “I’ll be damned. More so than I already am,” he added. “That actually worked.”

“I did say it would.”

“Well, yes, but you’re not Gale who is, unfortunately, always right. It’s one of his least endearing qualities.”

Halsin chuckled and began cleaning up after their camp. “He was quite helpful in this endeavor, I will admit.” He paused. “...It’s upset you, hasn’t it? This whole business?”

Astarion stood, brushing the sand from his trousers. “Yes,” he said. There was no point in lying, not after the past evening. “I have lived the last two hundred years as I am largely against my will. I’ve of course come to terms with what I am, to some extent, even as my master has tried to insist I am something else. But out here…well I have choices, it would seem. A veritable feast of them, in fact. And while I loathe that our dear friend insists on using their free will to help every weak and tortured soul that crosses our path, I respect that they can make that choice. But, last night…” Astarion sucked in a breath. “Last night, I felt very much the way I have in decades past. Trapped, with nowhere to go, and forced into a decision I did not want to make. And because of a stupid fucking mushroom.” He scowled and sat next to the remains of their fire. “I feel like a fool.”

Halsin continued gathering up his things — cups and herbs, a few things he’d decided not to use. Eventually he sat down again. “You are no fool, Astarion. The mushroom cannot help what it is anymore than you can help what you are. In the end, what truly separates us from most of nature is choice. And, perhaps, thumbs and limbs.”

“Thumbs and—” Astarion laughed. The sound of it startled him, but he couldn’t stop.

Halsin smiled. “I did tell you I could joke,” he said. “But, in all seriousness, what happened is not your fault. It was a simple accident and it was remedied through a collective effort of research and experience.”

“You make it sound like we solved a particularly challenging rat infestation. Not…not whatever that was.”

Halsin chuckled again. “Well, I am glad we were able to take care of your problem in a way that made you comfortable. At least, I hope that I did not cross any lines.”

“You didn’t,” Astarion said quickly. “I swear it.”

“Good.”

“And I’ll find some way to repay you,” he said. “I won’t forget this.”

Halsin shook his head. The sun was finally cresting the horizon. “There’s no need for that.”

“But I should,” Astarion insisted, moving closer. “You spent your time, your supplies—”

“I am a healer,” Halsin said. “I do not require payment.”

“But—”

“Astarion.” Halsin’s voice was firm now. The archdruid was speaking. “Enough. You owe me nothing, and I will not accept hollow favors. Please,” he said, gentler now. “Do not treat this as an exchange. I give my time and care to you freely. I always will.” He gathered up his things. “Let’s return to camp. I think a day of rest is all that you should need to recover completely, unless you feel the fever return.” He gave Astarion one last smile and turned to walk away.

Astarion scowled after him, wrenching his clothes from the tree where they’d been hung and stomping back to camp.

In another life, Astarion would have killed Wyll for leaving mushrooms in his tent. Instead, he picked them up and pelted him with them at sunrise.

“You’re hilarious, Ravenguard.”

“It was Karlach’s idea, and ow! Where’d you get more of them?”

“Forest is lousy with the things,” Karlach said, grinning over the morning fire. “You look right as rain now, Astarion. Feeling better?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “Actually, I’m feeling a bit peckish, so I suppose if my hunt goes poorly, I’ll have to come back and snack on one of you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Gale said. “But, I told you. Absolutely terrible.” He tapped his chest. “You really don’t want any of this, I promise. Eggs, anyone? Mushrooms for you, Wyll?”

“Ha bloody ha,” Wyll muttered. “Serves me right I guess.”

“Indeed it does! I shall return.” Astarion waved over his shoulder and went deeper into the forest. He spotted Tav walking beside Shadowheart towards the others — he’d interrupt their little moment some other time. For now, he continued into the forest to look for something to eat, and perhaps bring back if he was feeling generous.

He heard the bear before he saw it, and there was a particular scent on the breeze that made him smile.

“Enjoying nature’s bounty, druid?” Halsin lumbered beside him and made a noise. “I’ll take that as a yes.” They walked in comfortable silence for a while. Astarion quickly spotted a boar and took it down, draining it without much fanfare. Halsin peered at him curiously before shifting back into his usual form.

“Let me carry that,” he said, moving to heft the carcass onto his shoulder.

“Well, if you’re offering.” Astarion wiped a spare drop of blood from his mouth. “Do you walk around as a bear often?”

“Yes,” Halsin admitted. “Particularly when I feel…tense. Anxious. Now that the goblins have been dealt with and you are looking for a way to Moonrise, I feel…not quite myself.”

Astarion glanced over. He did look tired, like he hadn’t been trancing properly. Halsin was always awake when Astarion went to sleep, and awake when he got up.

“Well, you know our fearless leader,” Astarion said. “He’ll find a way to fix this for you, I’m sure of it.”

Halsin smiled. “He does have a knack for it.” He glanced over. “As much as you reject the notion, you’re as talented a problem solver as they are. And you make quite a fetching hero.”

Astarion scowled. “I ought to drain you for that, druid.”

They stopped at the edge of camp. Halsin turned to him. “If you think you can handle me, you are more than welcome to try.” He winked and headed towards Karlach, lifting the boar in greeting.

Astarion blinked, unsure of what had just happened.

“The druid desires you,” Lae’zel said from her tent, startling him. “Carnally,” she added.

Astarion quickly recovered. “Yes, darling, most do. I certainly haven’t forgotten your little offer from the party.”

Lae’zel was inspecting a wide array of weapons. Astarion felt he could handle himself against most of the camp if they turned on him, but he had what he considered a healthy fear of what Lae’zel might be capable of.

“Nor I your rejection,” she said.

Astarion sighed. “It isn’t you,” he insisted. “It’s—”

She turned to him. “Your mind is cluttered with distractions and agony. It would have been a dull endeavor without reward for either of us.”

“...Didn’t you sleep with Gale?”

Lae’zel frowned. “...I do not wish to discuss it.”

“Right then. Well, enjoy counting your knives, or whatever.” He went to his tent to get ready for the day.

Astarion wasn’t blind to Halsin’s interest. A lot of people, far less subtle than he, had come before him, and Astarion would accept or reject their advances in turn. But Halsin didn’t speak about his desire — so little, actually, that Astarion began to wonder if Lae’zel had imagined it.

Things got more…complicated, in the Shadow Lands.

Halsin wasn’t overtly distraught, but he looked tired. Maybe it was just this place, or maybe he really wasn’t resting properly, Astarion didn’t know. It was an arduous, difficult process, to do the things Halsin required of them, but Tav followed through, and in the end, they had a druid on their side. He was good in a fight, Astarion observed, clever with the spells he chose before he wildshaped. He favored the bear, but Astarion had seen him take the form of a crow and even a cat, to slip between a small crevice in the rocks.

One evening, Astarion was sitting by the fire watching Gale sift through their supplies, making some kind of soup. Finding the Last Light had been a boon — Gale got potatoes, and Astarion had drunk his fill from that Flaming Fist everyone was so upset about.

“I think that should be enough. Probably. Wyll eats far more than expected.”

“He’s a growing boy,” Astarion said. He glanced up as Tav and the others returned. “Good gods,” he said. “You all look like hell.”

Karlach grinned, bloody and pleased with herself. “Thanks!”

Tav had an arm looped around Wyll. He called out for Shadowheart, who emerged from her tent and began looking over them both. “Everything out there wants us dead. Even with Thaniel back, it’s not going down without a fight.” He glanced at Halsin. “You alright?”

Halsin nodded curtly. “Yes. You certainly know how to put an old elf through his paces. Please, excuse me.” He kept a hand held fast to his side and walked toward his tent. Astarion glanced at Gale, who had begun prestidigitating Karlach’s bloody armor, much to her delight. He stood and followed after Halsin.

“You seem to have taken quite a beating,” he said, keeping a respectable distance between them.

Halsin glanced up. His face was contorted in pain, but when he saw Astarion, it seemed to melt away. He smiled. Astarion…put that feeling away, for later.

“It was a difficult fight. I did warn everyone that these lands were not to be underestimated.” He looked down at his side and winced. “Damn it all,” he muttered.

“No healing hands?” Astarion asked.

Halsin shook his head. “I am drained.”

Astarion frowned, glancing over his shoulder. Wyll was still being nursed back to health — of them all he looked the worst. Halsin would be just fine, but Astarion felt…twitchy. He walked quickly back to his tent and began going through his pack. He’d pilfered a few things from a chest the other day when no one was looking — a handful of gold, a few precious stones, and…this. A rather powerful healing potion. Astarion considered it his finder’s fee — if no one else was going to bother learning to pick locks, he at least deserved to keep a few things for himself.

He returned to Halsin, potion in one hand, his meager sewing kit in the other.

“Here. Take that off.” He gestured toward Halsin’s ripped tunic.

Halsin glanced at him. “I am a practiced healer, Astarion. Even without spells, I can care for a wound.”

“I’m sure you can, just—” Astarion gestured again. “Off.”

Halsin lifted a brow, then nodded. “Alright.” With a low grunt, he managed to work off his pauldrons and wriggled free of the tunic. Astarion took the momentary distraction to appreciate what was beneath it — a well defined body that was soft in all the right places, befitting a bear with a sweet tooth. He suddenly wanted to touch the hair covered swell of Halsin’s belly, to lay like a cat in the sun on the warm plane of his chest. Halsin cleared his throat.

“Astarion.”

“Hm? Oh—” He took the tunic and handed over the potion. “Here. That will help.”

Halsin frowned. “This is quite strong.”

“You’ll be better for it come morning, if you drink it.”

“Astarion, I told you, you owe me nothing—”

“I want to do this,” Astarion snapped. “You said there are no debts between us and I agreed to that, albeit against my will. But you are a member of this camp, who promised to pull his own weight. You can’t very well do that bleeding everywhere and fighting in ripped clothing now can you?”

Halsin seemed a bit startled by the outburst, but his lips still curled at the corner. “You make a fine point.”

“Of course I do. I’m rarely wrong.” He sat down and began looking over the tunic. “Now drink that and stop arguing with me. It’s very irritating.”

Halsin nodded and drained the potion in one go. He dressed his wound, then sat down to watch Astarion work. The silence was comfortable, broken only by Gale calling out for dinner and Shadowheart insisting that Wyll needed to rest while Lae’zel chastised her for not respecting a warrior’s spirit.

Halsin chuckled. “They’re quite boisterous, this lot.”

“They’re young,” Astarion said.

“Indeed they are.” Halsin took his pipe from his pack — Tav had taken it ages ago, back in the grove, and returned it to Halsin the other day. It had made him smile, something dazzling and enormous. He packed it, now, and lit it before taking a long pull from the end. The smoke smelled sweet and earthy.

Astarion glanced up. “You look like you might start regaling me with tales of the old days.”

“I’m certain you could do the same.”

“Nonsense,” Astarion said. “I’m not a day over thirty-nine.”

Halsin frowned. “That’s quite young.”

“Yes, well, when you get turned into a vampire, you sort of stop getting older.”

“Hm.” Halsin chewed the end of his pipe “Where did you learn to sew?”

“Under Cazador’s watchful eye. Everything needed to be perfect. We weren’t allowed to have things tailor made to us. If we were ever given new clothes, there was no guarantee they would fit. I had to make them fit.” Astarion pulled his needle through the sturdy fabric of Halsin’s tunic, cinching the tear shut. “There. Good as new.”

Halsin looked over his handiwork. “You certainly have a talent.”

“I know.” Astarion pushed himself to his feet, trying not to preen under Halsin’s praise. “Gale made soup, if you’re hungry.”

Halsin nodded, and moved to stand next to him. “I appreciate your kindness,” he said.

“Yes, well.” Astarion shut the lid on his sewing kit. “I am known for it, on occasion. Just don’t go mouthing off about it to anyone.”

“It will be our secret,” Halsin assured him, and went to get something to eat.

Astarion had foolishly thought, once they arrived in the city, that he could use his newfound freedom to skirt the edges of Cazador’s territory. To avoid the worst of him.

After being attacked by his own bloody kin, he knew better.

“I suppose we should move on your former master a bit quicker then,” Gale said. He winced at the blood that was spreading across the floor of the inn. “Housekeeping won’t like this.”

“Housekeeping is at least alive to clean it,” Astarion muttered. “Apologies, everyone, for my family’s behavior.”

“They did seem to have some affection for you,” Shadowheart said. “Are you sure we couldn’t convince them to turn on Cazador?”

“No,” Astarion said. “He’s…changed them, somehow.” He remembered Petras and Dal, the way they’d disappeared into a fine, dark mist. “They think he’ll reward them.”

Tav wiped the blood from his sword on his tunic. “Tomorrow then. No point in waiting around for them to try killing us again.”

Astarion glanced over sharply. “Tomorrow—you’re sure?”

“Are you?”

“I…well. Yes, I suppose.”

“Then it’s settled.” He nodded towards the door. “Be ready in the morning. I don’t want to be caught in a vampire den come nightfall.”

Astarion sighed, watching them walk away. Shadowheart followed and Gale turned to him and said kindly, “It’ll be alright,” in that sort of Gale voice that had suddenly become so familiar.

“Of course it will be,” Astarion snapped. “Because we’ll kill Cazador and I’ll steal the ritual right out from under him.”

Gale winced. “Ah. Right. Forgot you were still, ah, considering that.”

“There’s nothing to consider.” Astarion took out a handkerchief and wiped his blade clean. “It’s the easiest way for me to remain free, and there’s no sense in turning down extra power. Unless you’re planning on changing your mind about blowing yourself up.”

“...I see.” Gale sighed. “Well, goodnight, Astarion.”

“Yes. Goodnight.” Astarion watched him head to bed.

“So it’s true then? You plan to complete the ritual yourself?”

Astarion jumped as Halsin stepped into the firelight. “Fuck—” He rounded on the druid. “Don’t do that,” he snarled. “And don’t you dare show up after all that and preach the moral high ground to me. You don’t know what I’ve been through. What I’ve survived. I will do anything to be free.”

Halsin nodded. To his credit, he wasn’t put off by Astarion’s fangs, literal or otherwise. He never had been. “You’re right,” he said. “I couldn’t know. I can…imagine. And I can consider my own experiences, certainly.”

Astarion poured a glass of wine and dropped down in front of the fire. He wasn’t tired now at all. “Oh? Did you get stuck in a cave for a few days?”

“The Underdark. For three years.”

“...Right. You…you mentioned that.”

“When I was a much younger man, I wanted to see what the world had to offer. I made my way to that place and found myself captured by a noble drow family. They…took a shine to me.”

Astarion took a long drink. The wine was better in the city, but he hardly tasted it, right now. “You were their pet.”

“Something like that. It was…complicated. I survived. I knew I couldn’t fight my way out of it, so I waited. Eventually, I was able to escape. Drow houses are always squabbling with one another.”

“A window of opportunity,” Astarion said. Halsin nodded. “Well. I…” He remembered now, the scars on Halsin’s feet, and the story of the drow, afflicted with the same poison that had driven Astarion to near-madness.

Did you make them tea, too?

I did not.

Astarion swallowed. “Well. I appreciate that you can empathize with my history more than most. But it does not change the facts. Cazador should die, and I should ascend. I think I’m owed that much, don’t you?”

Halsin stood near the fireplace, warming his hands. He looked down at Astarion, but there was no smile, no mirth in his eyes.

“I think you are owed a great many things, Astarion. And I think what those are is entirely for you to decide.” He turned to leave. “Goodnight,” he said, leaning down as he went to card a gentle hand through Astarion’s curls.

Astarion froze. Gripped his wine glass so tight he thought it might shatter. The touch scalded, but not in a way he…disliked. Rather, it felt like it stayed, long after he’d heard Halsin go to bed. He slid one of his own hands into his hair, touching the warmth left behind.

They’re wrong, he thought. They’re all wrong.

It didn’t stop him from staying awake long after he should have begun his trance, watching the edges of sunlight ease their way through the stained glass windows of the common room.

Everyone always said blood tasted like copper, and it wasn’t a lie. But blood…tasted like other things, too.

It tasted like magic, sometimes. The soft burn of air and light, a touch of incense and flame.

It tasted like river water, rich with minerals and cold across the tongue, from certain veins.

It tasted like earth, trapped beneath tree roots reaching desperately for the sun.

It tasted like this — like fear and malice, gripping him tight, so tight he thought his skin and muscles might peel off the bone and leave him there, stark white and exposed.

It tasted like his own cowardice, his hesitation, the wretched concern he suddenly had for seven thousand souls he shouldn’t give a damn about.

Don’t you? a voice asked. Don’t you, though?

He’d survived nearly two hundred years of Cazador’s rage and whims. The delicate touches of approval he’d craved, swiftly followed by the crack of the whip or his own fucking skull. His body bore the scars of Cazador’s motivations, but not his anger. He rarely marked them, didn’t want to attract the wrong sort of attention when they were entertaining guests, or filling the dungeons with bodies — writhing, starving bodies.

I want you to live a life you’re proud of, Astarion. You can’t be proud of this.

He swallowed. There was blood in his mouth, and it tasted like rot and sorrow.

There was blood all over him — his blood, the blood of the sacrifice, the blood of a hundred and seventy years of his own creation. Astarion picked up the dagger.

“You’re right,” he said. “I can be better than him. But I’m not above enjoying this.”

And to kill was second nature. Astarion taught himself how to wield a dagger, years ago. He needed to protect himself. Not that it could have ever protected him from the real threat. From the only thing he’d ever truly feared. The dagger sank into Cazador’s chest, once, then twice, then again and again. He wasn’t really in control, but that was fine. His body wanted its revenge, and his heart, cold in his chest, was just alive enough to want it, too. Muscles moved, his hand gripped the dagger’s hilt and his body burst with the agonizing, joyful release that was wrenching the last bit of life from Cazador’s corpse.

Then he sank to his knees — and he howled.

The world went quiet, after that. The sound of bare feet crossing the bloody marble floor. His siblings — come to pay their respects. They hovered around him, birds circling a carcass, as Astarion dropped the dagger and took deep, gulping breaths.

A touch, suddenly. A warm hand on his shoulder. Halsin, his brain noted, suddenly craving the touch. Halsin. He jolted without thought, trembling and looking frantically for an exit, even though he didn’t want it.

“Easy,” Halsin said, the way Astarion had seen him comfort a dying animal. “Easy now.”

Astarion wanted to speak, but he was all out of words. For once.

Strong, ancient arms enveloped him then, drawing him close. Astarion wanted to tell him to stop — he was covered in blood, he’d make a mess. But Halsin was a mess, too. They were all a mess, Astarion realized, as he wound his arms around the druid’s chest — and breathed.

A cool hand landed on his shoulder. “Let’s heal you up,” Shadowheart said gently.

“Plenty to go around,” Wyll added. Astarion heard the gentle pop of a cork.

“I’ll have a swig of that,” Tav said hoarsely. “Hells,” he muttered. “Look at this place.”

Astarion closed his eyes, letting the gentle murmur of his companions fall over him like a blanket, as Halsin’s hands, steady and warm, eased him back into the world of the living.

He slept.

For the first time in…years. Astarion slept.

Elves could sleep, it was a common misconception that it was impossible for them not to, but it was inefficient and annoying to need an entire night to rest.

Sleep was an indulgence and Astarion had gone nearly two hundred years without it.

And he dreamed, too.

Trancing always left the mind open to dreams and wandering thoughts. They’d plagued him in the first nights after the nautiloid crash, twisting and biting. As of late, though, his dreams had been…gentler. Easier to understand.

The night after killing Cazador, they were shockingly kind. Mushrooms and cups of tea. Warm hands and healing touches. Laughter, that pierced the veil between morning and night, and suddenly Astarion was very much awake, listening to the tail end of a dirty joke, and the sound of Karlach losing her mind with joy.

“You are awake.”

Astarion glanced over to find Lae’zel sitting in a chair by his bedside, working with a piece of leather.

“What are you doing here?”

“Ensuring you were safe through the night. We took turns.”

“...I see.”

“He wanted to make sure no one harmed you while you slept, in case your former master had some sort of…contingency plan. As no attempt was made on your life, it is clear that he, like most of his kind, was an arrogant fool who assumed he would succeed.” Lae’zel admired her handiwork. “You are welcome, by the way.”

Astarion stifled a yawn. “Yes, thank you. I will be sure to pass along the sentiment to our fearless leader as well for the idea.”

Lae’zel frowned. “It was not his idea. It was the druid’s. As I mentioned before, he desires you. Though now it seems you have both complicated matters by becoming attached.”

“Keep pretending you don’t have feelings, Lae’zel.” Astarion swung his legs out of bed and stood. “Eventually, I’ll believe you.”

She scowled and swore in his direction, but there was none of her usual bite. He knew if she hadn’t cared what happened to him or agreed with Halsin, she wouldn’t have taken watch at all. Astarion padded out of his room and into the common area, to find most of the party spread out along their dining table, eating and talking. Wyll looked up as he came closer.

“There you are. See? Nothing to worry about.”

“Says the man who took first watch,” Karlach said.

“Says the woman who arm wrestled me for it.”

They began to bicker, while Gale came over and pressed a bowl into Astarion’s hands.

“I asked the cook for this,” he said quietly. “It’s boar blood. Told her it was for an arcane ritual and she nearly beat me with a rolling pin.”

“Stop telling people that,” Tav said. He glanced towards Astarion. “You alright?”

“Hm? Oh, ah. Yes, I’m fine.” Astarion took the bowl of blood. “Thank you, Gale. Next time, though, I’d like to watch. I imagine you’d enjoy a bit of a cook’s browbeating.”

“Ha! You are hilarious.” Gale sat at the table and Astarion settled next to him. He glanced around, looking for —

“Halsin’s making nice with the kitchen staff,” Tav said. “He wants to know where they get this bread they’ve been serving. Said it reminds him of home.”

“I wasn’t looking for him.”

“Sure.” Tav clapped him gently on the shoulders. “Why don’t you stay here today, hm? Gotta help Jaheira with a few things, then we’ll take the night off.” He stood and gathered a group. Astarion found himself alone, suddenly, as Gale made himself scarce to find another bookstore, and Lae’zel and Karlach laid out their axe collections, negotiating trades.

Halsin returned some time later, laden down with bread, looking cheerful. “You’re awake!” he said, spotting Astarion at the table. “Good. I was hoping you’d gotten enough rest. Did you sleep well?”

“I slept fine under the watchful eye of a murderous githyanki.”

Halsin chuckled. “Yes, you’ll have to forgive my caution. I was concerned there may be repercussions for our actions yesterday. I’m glad I was proven wrong.” He set the bread on the table. “How do you feel?”

“I…I don’t know. That’s a big question to answer,” Astarion admitted.

“Then don’t.” A hand fell gently onto Astarion’s shoulder. “Rest, today. And consider the big questions tomorrow.”

Astarion watched that hand move away, taking the warmth with it. “If you say so,” he murmured, and finished the last of his meal.

Things could never stay too quiet, of course. Gale got himself captured, which they dealt with quickly — “I do not like that woman, I do not like that woman,” he’d said, shaking and shivering in the Bhall temple while clinging to Karlach for warmth. There was Gortash to handle, but all in due time, Tav said. He was awfully relaxed for a man facing down the end of the world, but it was only Astarion’s business in that he lived here, too, and didn’t want to fucking die.

But then, of course, there were the days when they seemed to just…be. When Baldur’s Gate was still itself, even under the threat of doom.

They came to a graveyard, which Astarion had never been able to appreciate in the midday sun. It was sort of…beautiful, he supposed. Tav was trying to gently talk a girl down from the ledge of necromancy, so Astarion wandered, looking for a familiar spot.

When he found it, he knelt in front of the tombstone and pushed aside the leaves, running his thumb over the words etched into the rock.

Astarion Ancunín

Beloved son, brilliant boy.

“You always were very sweet, mother,” he murmured, and took out his dagger. Maybe, someday, he’d find his parents. They weren’t in the city anymore, if they were still alive. He tried to remember their faces, as he etched new numbers into the stone, but couldn’t recall. Better this way, probably. Better to be a memory. He kneeled back and admired his handiwork. There was more than one way to be immortal, he thought.

A long shadow fell over him. “Defacing private property?” Halsin asked.

Astarion glanced up. “Planning on calling the guard?”

“Ha! I know better than that,” Halsin said. He held out a hand for Astarion to take.

Sheathing his dagger, Astarion reached out and let Halsin pull him to his feet. “They’d have to catch me first.”

“No easy feat,” Halsin said quietly. “As I can say from experience.” He squeezed Astarion’s hand and turned to rejoin their companions.

Astarion curled his fingers into a fist, flexing them over the warmth left behind.

It was true that he was always, always running these days.

Maybe it was time for him to stop.

Astarion’s memory was not the best, but there were moments from his past he could recall with startling clarity. Some good, some wretched, but he could recall them all the same. He woke one morning with a memory stuck in his craw and chewed on it until nightfall. While the others were finishing their dinner, Halsin had gone onto the balcony to smoke his pipe and chat with a few birds. Always full of interesting news, he liked to say.

“If you’re quite done gossiping with the local wildlife,” Astarion said, tapping him on the shoulder, “I’d like to take you somewhere tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Should I ask?”

“You shouldn’t.” Because I’m still trying to bloody remember where to go. “But after sunset, we’ll meet downstairs.”

Halsin raised a brow. “Very well. I will see you soon.”

Astarion nodded curtly, then went inside to watch Gale and Wyll clean up. (“You could blood well help, Astarion.”) When the others began settling down, Astarion gathered a few things in a pack and stole downstairs, waiting impatiently for Halsin to join him. He was fidgeting with a coin, letting it tumble across his knuckles when Halsin arrived.

“There you are.”

“You were not terribly specific about the time.”

“Good enough point. Come on.” Astarion grabbed Halsin’s hand and pulled him into the street. They wound through alleyways and under walkways, making a wide circle around the Szarr manor before reaching another residential district. Astarion walked along the road, looking at each house until a memory sparked — another party, another chance for Cazador to make alliances, or so he said. Astarion remembered the way they’d hunt at these parties and shuddered. No. Not tonight.

“Here.” He motioned for Halsin to follow him toward the back of the house. A tall gate with a rusted lock stopped them from getting inside, but Astarion made quick work of it and yanked it open. He glanced at Halsin. “Are you coming or not?”

“I’m still not sure what we’re doing here, Astarion.”

Astarion sighed. “You said you missed the woods and the trees and all the greenery and blah blah blah.” Astarion took his hand again and pulled him inside. “Sometimes, though, the city provides.”

The gate swung shut and they both turned to face the garden before them. In Astarion’s memories, it was well kept and aglow with floating motes of light. After years of abandonment and under the gaze of the moon, it was something else entirely. Wild and overgrown, vines and leaves covered the once-neat cobblestone path cutting through the yard. A fountain, now dry, was covered in moss and vines, the statue at the top reaching out uselessly towards the stars.

“By the Oak Father’s grace,” Halsin murmured. “What is this?”

“It’s an old estate. The family who owns it died some years ago. Their only living heir never came back to claim it, and until some other enterprising lord or whoever decides they want it for themselves, it will sit empty. We came here as guests, years ago. Cazador was off putting to most nobles, but there were a few he could wine and dine. Charming as he was.” Astarion plucked a flower from a vine and twirled it between his fingers. “This was my favorite part. It was always so nice out here. You could pretend to be normal, if only for a while.” He glanced around. “I suppose it’s seen better days.”

“Nonsense,” Halsin said. He reached for a flower, and it reached back. He turned to Astarion. “It’s perfect.”

The moonlight struck him then, and Astarion saw it plainly, what Lae’zel was always saying. Desire. It flared like a flame, stirring Astarion’s belly with a heat he had not felt since…since the mushroom, if he was being honest. Before that, even longer. The mushroom was just toxins. Pure nature. But this…this was something else.

Astarion moved without questioning it. He went into Halsin’s arms, was gathered up and held close against his chest, breathing a long-awaited sigh of relief when Halsin leaned down to kiss him. Astarion gripped his arms tight, feeling the hot swell of Halsin’s tongue push deep into his mouth. He moaned, kissing him back, keeping himself pinned tight to Halsin’s chest for fear he might fly away. Two large hands spread over Astarion’s back, holding him flush and tight, before one trailed down to his hip and squeezed. Astarion sighed happily. He felt secure like this. Tended to.

Like a garden.

He realized why Halsin had not asked for anything in return, after Astarion had been stricken with the mushroom’s toxin. Halsin did not see healing as transactional, nor anything else he did. Halsin merely tended to his companions, like wild plants in a garden. His grove had been the same, and he seemed bothered most that he could not treat Baldur’s Gate like the overgrown pit of weeds it truly was.

Astarion was an unruly vine in Halsin’s care, and he found he liked it that way.

Halsin drew back, much to Astarion’s annoyance. “Forgive me,” he panted. “I…lost myself.”

“Does the bear want to come out and play?”

Halsin chuckled. “Perhaps another time. This city is not so conducive to that.” He reached up and stroked a thumb over Astarion’s cheek. “Tell me you didn’t bring me here just to look at a dead man’s garden.”

“I didn’t. Just…a moment.” Astarion turned and realized the problem with his plan. There was literally nowhere to lay down that wasn’t covered in plantlife. He fished a blanket from the pack he’d brought and sighed. A moment later, the grass and vines began to crawl back. He caught a flash of green from Halsin’s hand and saw a spot had been cleared. “Well. That’s a neat trick.”

“Perhaps someday I will teach you.”

Perhaps and someday stuck in Astarion’s chest. He pushed himself to his toes and kissed Halsin’s jaw before taking the blanket and spreading it out. When he was finished, he sat and Halsin lowered himself down beside him, taking off his shoes and looking up at the stars. The night was relatively warm, but a cool breeze, scented by the wild blooms of the garden, wafted through.

“It is beautiful,” Halsin murmured.

“You should have seen the place in its heyday,” Astarion said.

“Yes, I’m sure it was neat and tidy and quite controlled. But this—” He reached out and encouraged a stray vine to grow closer to them. “This is how nature was meant to be. I have nothing against gardens,” he added. “But to force a creature, even a plant, to exist in a form against its will.” Halsin plucked a flower from the vine, turning to tuck it behind Astarion’s ear. “Blooms like these were meant to grow wild.”

Astarion’s breath caught in his throat. He pushed himself toward Halsin without regard, tackling him to the blanket and straddling his hips. Halsin rutted up against him, giving Astarion a first taste of his strength. He felt Halsin’s cock beneath him, growing hard in his trousers, pushing against Astarion’s own.

“Forgive me,” Halsin said. “You make me forget myself.”

Astarion kissed him again. “So forget yourself. Just for a while.” He reached up and traced the edge of one of Halsin’s ears, smiling when he shivered. “Be wild.”

“I would like that with you. Someday. But I do not want to make promises I can’t keep. This city—”

Astarion sighed, pushing himself with two hands on Halsin’s chest. “Please,” he interrupted. “You think I expect you to stay here? Darling, I don’t even know what I want after all this is through. My life is…immeasurably different than I had ever thought it could be, and now I’ll have actual freedom to contend with. Halsin,” he said, firmly, and gripped his chin between his fingers. “There is no way of knowing what the future will bring. So for now, let’s just…have this. Each other.” Astarion bent low and pressed his lips against the corner of Halsin’s mouth. “Please,” he added, quieter.

Halsin tensed under him for only a second, enough for Astarion to think later, darling. He put two fingers under Astarion’s chin and lifted his gaze.

“It is enough,” he said. “More than enough. How would you like me then, my heart?”

Astarion’s own did not beat, but if it had, it would have skipped a few. “Undress me,” he said, and sat back on his knees.

Halsin nodded and pushed himself up, reaching first to pull Astarion’s shirt free from his trousers before tugging it gently over his head. Even in the warm evening hair, a chill came over him, and Astarion shivered as Halsin dragged his hands over his chest and back, reaching around to circle each nipple with his thumbs. Astarion moaned quietly, then felt Halsin’s hand drop down to the laces of his pants, pulling them open slowly and deliberately. It was as close to artistry as undressing a lover could get, Astarion thought, and sighed happily. A large hand slid down the back of his pants and gripped a palmful of his ass, squeezing. Then, in one quick pull, Halsin yanked Astarion’s trousers down with his smalls and pushed them to his knees.

Wiggling was undignified, but Astarion wasn’t so focused on dignity, in the moment.

“My turn,” he said, and began unwrapping Halsin like a particularly anticipated nameday gift. His clothes were practically made for it, which was excellent considering Astarion had no use for them. He tossed them all in a pile with his own and finally, finally took in all of Halsin.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he muttered.

“Am I?”

“Do you not hear it very often? Because you are.” Astarion spread his hands over Halsin’s chest, bending down to kiss a line from the hollow of his throat down to his breast bone. He lingered there before reaching up to lave at one nipple with his tongue. Halsin moaned and shifted beneath him, the hard line of his cock pressing insistently against Astarion’s stomach.

Astarion wanted to adore every part of him, to cover every inch of Halsin’s body with his hands and mouth. He settled for what he could reach, and eventually made himself comfortable between Halsin’s thighs. His cock was mostly hard now, beading slowly at the tip and making Astarion’s mouth water. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d put another man’s cock in his mouth, let alone done it because he wanted to. He grazed the length of it with the back of his hand, watching Halsin’s expression change.

“How long for you, darling?”

Halsin laughed. “I will admit, it has been longer than usual.”

“So I’ll be your first in a while then?”

“If it satisfies you to think of it that way, by all means.”

“It does,” Astarion said simply, and dragged his tongue from the base of Halsin’s cock all the way to the tip. It was not an inconsiderable length, but it was also not as large as he’d fantasized about. Arguably it was the biggest he’d ever seen, but it was fitting — warm and fat in his hand, twitching when Astarion breathed too close. Without wasting any more time, Astarion leaned forward and slowly began to take it into his mouth, pulling back to wet his hand as he compensated for what he could not swallow with his slick-hot palm.

Halsin groaned, sliding one hand into Astarion’s hair and down the edge of one ear. “Astarion.”

Astarion made a noise, and took a little more. He was out of practice, but the affection in Halsin’s voice urged him to keep going, slowly still, keeping his fingers wrapped around the base. Each time he pulled off, he brought his hand up, twisting and taking a bit more until he found the perfect amount. After that, he set a quicker pace, bracing himself with his free arm curled around Halsin’s thigh. He watched Halsin’s face, watched the way pleasure crossed it like a wave. Astarion wanted whatever came next. He thought idly that it would be nice if Halsin fucked him like this all night, if he didn’t have to do anything at all except take a cock down his throat until Halsin came. It might have been good if Halsin pulled his hair, forced him down a little further, choked him with it.

He didn’t, and everything he did was absolutely fine. It was fine and perfect and Astarion was happy —

It was just nice to have fantasies again.

“Astarion, I—”

Astarion didn’t pull back. He kept going, meeting Halsin’s gaze and nodding as best he could. Halsin muttered something — it sounded like elvish and Astarion would have replied if he’d had the mouth to do it — and then he came with a low groan, spilling into Astarion’s mouth. Astarion held still, swallowing what he could before he finally pulled back and let Halsin’s softening cock fall to the side. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

“Well?” he asked. “How was it?”

Halsin chuckled and sat up on his elbows. “Are you always going to need this sort of validation?”

Astarion shrugged. “Perhaps.” He crawled closer to Halsin’s mouth and laid himself flat on his chest. “I do so love to be told how good I am.”

Halsin hummed and reached up to stroke Astarion’s cheek, drawing him in for a kiss.

“You are good,” he said. “Very good.”

Satisfied, Astarion wriggled down and rested his cheek on Halsin’s chest, listening to the sounds of him — his lungs, taking in air. His heart, slowing down after exerting himself. He was so alive. Astarion traced the edge of a scar on his chest. “Another bear attack?”

“No. People. Years ago.”

“Hm.” Astarion glanced up. “You’d tell me every story, wouldn’t you?”

“If we had the time.” Halsin glanced at the sky. It was still early in the night, but Astarion understood what he meant. Halsin moved, and Astarion’s still stiff cock shifted against him. “Now that we have time to do something about.”

“I’m rather used to ignoring it.”

“And I would rather you not have to.” Halsin kissed him again. “How would you like me, hm? I could take you, have you on your hands and knees. Have you ride me.”

“Both very good ideas,” Astarion said, closing his eyes as Halsin trailed his lips along his jaw and up towards his ear.

“Mmhm. But you’d like to watch me, wouldn’t you? You like seeing my face.” Astarion nodded, his mind wandering off a bit further than anticipated as Halsin’s tongue traced the pointed shell of his ear. His breathing slowed, and he felt afloat in a sea of vines and leaves.

“Halsin…”

“I want this to be good for you, Astarion. I want you to be satisfied.”

Astarion nodded. He wanted to say that he was already quite satisfied, but Halsin moved to his other ear, and Astarion’s body was a loose arrangement of limbs and bones when the thought came to him —

“I want to be inside you,” he said. “I…can I?”

Halsin drew back. His expression was…proud, which made Astarion flush and duck his head. “No, no. Don’t hide.” He held Astarion’s face in both hands. “I would like that very much.”

Astarion nodded, quickly untangling himself from Halsin’s arms and going to the bag he’d brought. He had a small bit of oil, because he was a new convert to the temple of optimism, and there were some things in this world you just had to ask for if you wanted them. Astarion brought it back and hovered over Halsin’s chest again before kissing him. He was a large man and Astarion was slight and all bone and sinew — but he fit perfectly between Halsin’s legs.

A quick splash of oil across his fingers — then he reached down and between Halsin’s cheeks to push gently at his hole.

He was immediately struck by how warm everything was. A tight, pressing heat enveloped his finger, then the other. Halsin made a low, desperate noise as Astarion delighted in the feeling, marveled at the way Halsin’s muscles clenched and tightened around him. He could have just done this, for hours probably. Judging by the way Halsin reacted when Astarion brushed a particularly sensitive place, they both could have.

But he wanted more. So much more.

He pulled out and pressed his lips against Halsin’s stomach. Another drizzle of oil over his palm. He reached down and grasped his cock in hand before pushing himself forward, sinking inside. They moaned nearly in unison and Astarion felt like all the air was pushed out of his chest as he was surrounded by heat heat heat.

“Gods, how are you so warm?” he asked, gasping as he began to thrust slowly in and in. Halsin radiated heat, from where he was wrapped around Astarion’s cock, upwards out of his chest where Astarion dropped his forehead and panted. Halsin’s skin felt hot to the touch and it was all so much —

Two hands reached down and lifted Astarion’s face up. Halsin pushed sweat-damp curls back from his forehead.

“Take what you want, my heart. And I will have whatever you can give.”

Everything, Astarion thought. I want to give you everything.

But Halsin wouldn’t like that. He would never ask or demand it. And besides, those days were over. Astarion didn’t need to give someone everything anymore. He could leave some for himself.

But he could give just enough. Enough to satisfy, to show Halsin how he felt. Astarion began to move, pushing himself up and bracing a hand on either side of Halsin’s chest. That warmth was ramping up into an almost impossible heat, but Astarion was growing used to it now, reveling in it, — he’d been so cold for so long.

Beneath him, Halsin’s chest rumbled as he gave a low groan of pleasure. “That’s it, my heart. I know you’ve wanted this.”

“This? I will admit, this particular fantasy did not—ha, cross my mind until tonight—oh gods.” Astarion buried himself deep now, setting a steady pace. He focused on this, on how good it felt. Halsin continued to murmur pleasantly beneath him, a string of encouragement and praise. Astarion heard the loud and lurid sound of skin on skin. He loved watching Halsin’s face, loved seeing the power he held, just by fucking him, by giving him something he wanted. There was no ritual for this, he thought, no amount of souls which could be sacrificed to give him the ability to make Halsin tremble beneath him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Like this. You’re beautiful all the time. You feel fucking incredible.” Astarion thrust in, hard, because he knew Halsin could take it, because he knew Halsin wanted it. He kept going after that, setting a rough, steady pace. Everything felt focused on these moments, these moments of heat and pleasure. Astarion’s entire body was damp and slick with sweat, everything was wet and the air around them was heavy with the thick scent of sex. The moon watched, and stars abided. Halsin’s hands gripped Astarion’s arms tight. He was large enough that Astarion couldn’t push himself up to kiss him, but he had never felt as connected to someone as he did right then.

“Astarion, gods above, you’ll drive me to madness.”

“Have I not already? I’ll just need to try harder.”

“Oh—” Halsin looked at him and growled. “You try plenty. Don’t stop, I’m…I’m close once more.”

Astarion realized that Halsin’s cock was hard again. His grip on Astarion’s arms loosened and Astarion slipped free, sitting up to reposition himself. He spread his hands across Halsin’s chest and kept going, grinning when Halsin cried out as his cock struck particularly deep.

“I love you like this,” he said. “Desperate and perfect beneath me. Maybe I shouldn’t let you come, hm?”

“Tell me and I won’t,” Halsin said, and Astarion knew he meant it.

But Astarion wanted it. He wanted to feel it when Halsin’s resolve shattered, to feel the tension thrumming through his body snap. Astarion thrust in, hard, and held himself there.

“Darling,” he managed. “Just let go.”

Halsin pushed one hand between them and wrapped it around his cock. Astarion watched, pleasure-drunk and starstruck, as he came, arching his back and planting his feet flat on the ground. There was a deep rush of pleasure as Halsin clenched around him, and Astarion gasped with it, pitching forward and gritting his teeth. He felt his own resolve begin falling away, crumbling under his desire to follow Halsin off the edge.

“Your turn,” Halsin managed. He reached down and cupped Astarion’s cheek. “You’ve been so good.”

I have, Astarion thought. Haven’t I?

With a cry, he let go, thrusting into Halsin once more before he came. It felt like his orgasm was all but ripped from him, and he liked it. He liked the force and the rush, the sudden feeling of being weightless and blind and open all at once. It faded into the night, becoming a quiet thing that melded with the sounds of the garden. Astarion heard, distantly, the night time clatter of the city before he collapsed onto Halsin’s chest with a groan.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, he muttered, “That was something.”

Halsin chuckled. “It certainly was.”

Astarion groaned. “I’m…sticky.”

“Mmhm.” When Astarion looked up, Halsin’s eyes were closed. He lazily stroked Astarion’s back, sliding his hand down and cupping the swell of his ass before he said, “I’ve wanted this for…a long time.”

“Since the mushroom.”

Halsin shook his head. “Before.”

Astarion rested his cheek over Halsin’s heart. “Oh,” he said, closing his eyes. “I didn’t notice.”

“I can be subtle, on occasion.”

Astarion laughed. He laughed and laughed and rolled off of Halsin, covering his face with one hand. Beside him, Halsin chuckled and sat up.

“I am glad you still find me funny.”

“Darling,” Astarion said, “you’re the funniest druid I know.”

They sat for a while, and Astarion pulled out snacks from his bag that he’d brought for Halsin and they drank water and traded swings from a flask of wine, which turned Halsin’s cheeks ruddy and flushed. Astarion kissed him, climbing into his lap and undoing all his braids one by one before burying his hands in Halsin’s hair and inhaling the rich, evergreen scent of him.

Morning was going to come, whether they liked it or not. Another day, another step closer to the end of everything. Astarion didn’t know what was waiting — Halsin would leave, that was certain, and Astarion would return to the shadows. But beyond that…

Beyond that, there was nothing but stars and a future. He looked at Halsin and he loved him, watching him dress and ask a vine, kindly, to please move, if only for a moment. Maybe, if he was lucky, Astarion would go with him. And maybe they would part and find one another again. It didn’t matter.

There was time. There was so much time. And Astarion was more than happy to wait.