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Astarion crept through the cellar on desperately quiet feet. When Tav had led them around the Last Light Inn today, talking to every gods-forsaken tiefling and Harper they could find, Astarion had heard the scrambling of rodents underneath the floorboards. Once he had caught the sound, it had been impossible to unhear it. The incessant scratching underlay every conversation for the rest of the day, and the gnawing hunger in his gut grew and grew.
It had taken ages for everyone to settle in for the night. Gale had made a makeshift feast to celebrate their ambush of the lamp-bearer and freeing of the pixie, which meant everyone had stayed up talking longer than usual. When the wizard got started on a topic, he could go on forever, especially when Wyll and Shadowheart indulged him with follow-up questions and anecdotes of their own. Finally, even Gale was too tired to talk any more, and the group dispersed back to their tents. Astarion didn’t miss the fact that Karlach towed Tav back to her tent, and on another night he might have teased them for it. Tonight, though, he barely gave them a passing thought as he stole one of Lae’zel’s torches and crept into the shadows.
The entire way to the Last Light Inn he tried not to think about the fact that he was hunting rats—fucking rats—again. He also tried not to think about the bone dry jars that had once held his emergency blood supply. He was utterly unsuccessful on both fronts, and by the time he reached the cellar irritation and hunger and shame had mixed in his stomach like a perfect potion of misery.
The cellar was covered in cobwebs. Honestly, it looked like no one had been down here in a hundred years. Next to the decaying barrels and shattered shelves, though, he spied rat droppings, and he couldn’t help the way his nostrils flared in an attempt to scent out the ones who had left them behind. It took a moment, but eventually the dirty smell of rodent fur wafted his way.
Now that he had a scent as well as a sound to follow, the hunt was over. He found three rats cowering in a shadowy corner less than a minute later, and a minute after that he had drained them completely dry. Their wiry fur stuck in his teeth, and he had to fight down his reflex to throw their precious blood back up.
Rats in the shadow-cursed land and rats in Cazador’s palace tasted basically the same, it turned out.
The blood of three rats was hardly a meal. It barely made a drop of difference in the hunger that had clawed out a place in his stomach, and the panic that he had been pushing back thrust itself forward. What if he never found anything else to eat? He knew from experience that the hunger wouldn’t kill him, but it would leave him pathetically weak, and weak things didn’t survive here long. Maybe in Moonrise towers he could lure one of the Absolute’s goblins or someone into a dark corner while Tav did whatever it was heroes do. Would he even make it that far?
He snarled into the still air and dropped the rat he was still holding. He spent the next hour scouring every inch of the cellar, but those three rats were apparently the only rats. The only anything. In the Inn above, he could hear the sound of voices and the agonizing rush of blood pumping through veins.
If he had had any more energy, he would have stomped all the way back to Tav’s camp. As it was, he managed little more than a trudge. He tried not to think about whether he had expended more energy finding those rats than he had gained draining them. He tried not to think about the way his gums ached with the hunger. He tried not to think about how heavy his limbs felt. Honestly, he tried not to think at all.
That was a mistake.
He hadn’t bothered to pay much attention to his surroundings once he was back in the camp, and it was only his centuries of conditioning that kept him from jumping out of his skin when a deep voice rumbled, “Astarion.”
He turned to Halsin with a smooth movement. He still couldn’t get a read on the hulking druid who had decided to join Tav’s misfit band, but his instincts took over quickly enough. “And here I thought the night belonged to my ilk rather than yours,” he said with a teasing smirk. “Or did you just miss my stimulating company?”
The druid gave him an appraising look. Normally, Astarion would preen or make some suggestive comment when he found himself holding someone’s attention so thoroughly, but he was exhausted. He managed a cocked hip and a raised eyebrow, but that was it.
Finally, Halsin met his eyes again. Before Astarion could rattle off one of his usual lines, the druid said, “You look hungry.”
Fuck. Fuck. Was it that obvious? His reserves had run out five days ago, but that was hardly the longest he had gone without blood before. There had been times when he was fed a single rat over the span of a tenday, and he had still managed to pull himself together enough to bring victims back to Cazador. He had been a fool to grow so used to ready access to blood so quickly, and now Halsin was staring at him with something that looked sickeningly like concern in his eyes.
Astarion gathered his wits and threw on one of his more seductive masks, hoping Halsin would read any hesitation on his part as savoring the moment rather than stalling for time. “My dear druid, I am always hungry, especially with someone as handsome as you around.” He gave Halsin a lingering once over, allowing appreciation and lust to show on his face as he did. The druid was handsome, that was true. Well-muscled but soft in all the right places, powerful but not overbearing, kind but with an animalistic streak that surely meant he was a freak in bed. Plenty for Astarion to work with.
When he reached Halsin’s eyes, he could see lust in them. It gave eyes a sort of dark sharpness that he had come to anticipate in nearly every gaze that met his own over the past two hundred years. But Halsin’s was different. Subdued.
Astarion swaggered closer. “Don’t tell me you aren’t hungry too.”
Instead of growing darker, Halsin’s eyes seemed to clear, and he slowly shook his head. “That is not the kind of hunger I meant.” His eyes flicked down to Astarion’s mouth, where the tips of his fangs protruded.
He bared his fangs in a sharp smile. “I’m sure I’ll find something to sink my teeth into,” he said, letting his eyes linger meaningfully over the druid’s exposed neck. When he didn’t respond, he met Halsin’s eyes once more. “Now, some of us require beauty rest.” He spun away and walked back to his tent, swaying his hips just a little when he felt Halsin’s eyes linger.
He collapsed onto his pile of pillows the second the tent flap closed. It was hardly his cleanest exit, but he really didn’t have the strength to care. As long as the druid kept his mouth shut and Astarion kept being the rogue that Tav needed him to be, everything would be fine. He had survived worse than the shadow-cursed lands. Besides, how long could it take to storm Moonrise?
. . .
A tenday later, they were still in the shadow-cursed lands, and starvation gnawed at Astarion like he was a particularly tasty bone. His gums ached constantly, and every movement was like wading through honey. He hadn’t found any more rats, and he hadn’t been able to lure anyone into the shadows of Moonrise because of the scrying eyes that had followed them around constantly.
He was hungry and irritable and slow. Too slow. He could barely keep track of the conversations happening around him, which forced him to move entirely on instinct and muscle memory. His hands shook when he picked a lock, and his aim with his bow was anything but steady.
But it worked. It worked. He kept sneaking and stealing and fighting and being the person Tav needed him to be. No one seemed to notice that he wasn’t all there, except for Halsin. Whenever they came back to the camp at night, he could feel the druid’s eyes on him. For a while, he kept up the coy game with little smiles and suggestive winks, but eventually his hunger became too distracting for him to even manage that. Whatever his intentions were, Halsin hadn’t said anything since that night with the rats, and Astarion wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or bear. Whatever. As long as he kept his comments to himself, he could look all he liked.
. . .
Three days later Astarion’s luck, if it could be called that, ran out.
Shar was having a twisted day when she came up with the shadow-curse, and she was no doubt laughing at their expense right now. It wasn’t enough that there were moving shadows around every corner or that they would all turn into monsters if the pixie they had freed ever changed her mind about protecting them. Not even Thorm’s fucked up extended family was punishment enough, apparently. No, no! On top of all of that shit there had to be exploding plants.
If he hadn’t been so hungry, he would have seen it coming. His eyes worked best in the dark, and while the plant monsters blended in, they had their tells, like rustling in the non-existent wind. As it was, though, hunger had narrowed his vision, and it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other.
He only saw the treasure chest at the top of the crumbling tower. It would be a quick little climb and then he’d be back with some trinkets for Tav, and maybe they would call it a night and he could crawl into his tent and be miserable in peace. But he had never been blessed with luck, and nothing could be that easy.
One moment he was staring at a ladder in the darkness, the next moment the bushes on either side of him erupted and he was flat on his back with spiky shadows looming over him.
What happened after that was a blur. Every inch of him burned like something had decided to chew him up, swallow him, let him stew in digestive juices for a few days, and spit him out again. He tried to lash out or at least crawl away, but his limbs refused to so much as twitch. Hunger and blood loss clouded his vision, and darkness closed in on him from all sides.
Panic shot through what little blood he had left like lightning, and Cazador’s laugh echoed around him as the crypt door slid shut, sealing him in bloodless darkness.
. . .
He woke to the sound of blood rushing in his ears. There had never been any blood in the crypt before, Cazador made sure of it. The sound of it made his fangs burn in his gums, saliva pooling on his tongue. Another of Cazador’s tortures, then. He probably had some poor fool tied up just outside the doo—
“Are you awake, little star?”
His eyes snapped open and he was met not with the pitch-black of the Szarr family crypt but flickering candlelight illuminating the insides of a tent. He wasn’t alone, either. Halsin was leaning over him, magic glowing in his palms and the vein in his neck thrumming with sweet, sweet blood. Astarion opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a thin line of drool. Halsin smelled like sunlight and warm earth, even after all this time in the shadow-cursed lands, and his blood beat a steady, deafening rhythm.
He clamped his mouth shut with an audible click, wincing as his fangs dug into his own lips. He tried to glare at the druid, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his pulse.
“Ah.” Astarion hated how knowing that little sound was. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, and my healing cannot replace it entirely. Allow me to finish healing these last wounds, and then you may drink your fill from me.”
That was enough to pull Astarion’s eyes from Halsin’s throat to his face. “I’m sorry, what? Just like that?” He was too tired to disguise the surprise in his voice.
Halsin placed a heavy, warm hand on Astarion’s side. Only then did he realize someone had stripped him down to his pants, which were riddled with holes. He barely repressed a disgusted shiver. But Halsin’s hand didn’t drift or clutch at him possessively. It just sat there over his ribs and pushed healing magic into his undead flesh.
The feeling was so alien that he almost missed the druid’s next words. “You need to feed, little star. When was the last time you ate?”
He didn’t bother answering—the druid already knew the answer, or could at least guess.
Halsin sighed and with drew his hand. He stepped back, as far as the small tent would allow, and knelt. They were eye level now, and it took all of Astarion’s quickly dwindling will to keep his eyes on Halsin’s and not his neck.
“I have lived long enough to be familiar with most of nature’s creatures, but you are not most creatures,” the druid said.
“Certainly not.” He aimed for coy but landed somewhere closer to suspicious.
Halsin continued as if he hadn’t interrupted. “I do not know the needs or habits of vampire spawn outside of the little I have read and heard, but I know what hunger looks like. Tav told me what happened today, and you are far too skilled to have walked into an ambush normally. Let me help.”
Astarion’s undead heart clenched in his chest. They knew. They all knew that he was weak, unsteady. A liability. All the work he had put in to ingratiate himself, especially after the...incident with Tav evaporated like so much smoke, and all because they had found themselves in a land without wildlife. It was pathetic.
But he could salvage this. The druid was offering, and he could deal with whatever price he demanded later.
With effort, Astarion pushed himself onto his elbow and looked at the druid through hooded lids. “There’s no need to beg, darling. If you’re so eager to have my teeth in your neck, why don’t we both get comfortable?”
For a moment, Halsin’s face twisted in concern, but then he nodded. “How do you want me?”
That was too easy an opening to let slip, even with the sound of the druid’s blood drowning out most of his thoughts. “So many ways, but let’s start with you laying on your side.” Halsin obeyed, laying on the spread fur and elevating his head with a few pillows. How considerate.
Astarion slid in behind him. Heat radiated off the druid, and he was all-too aware of his current half-dressed state. Nothing to be done about it now, though. The angle would be better if he could sit behind Halsin or perhaps straddle him, but he wasn’t sure he had the strength to hold himself up long enough to feed, so this would have to do.
He took a breath he didn’t need, then settled with his chest to Halsin’s back. He draped one arm across the druid’s broad chest, tugging him closer, and tangled his other hand in the man’s hair. The druid only leaned into the touches, and Astarion filed that fact away for later.
His jaw ached fiercely, and his nostrils flared wide, breathing in the heady, woodsy scent of the druid. Drool pooled in his mouth, and the last of his control snapped. He buried his face in Halsin’s neck with a low groan and breathed deep again. He could feel the druid taking slow, deep breaths in his arms, and he didn’t move a muscle as Astarion’s fangs pierced the side of his neck.
Those first drops of blood that hit his tongue were like the sweetest wine and headiest whiskey all at once. Two more swallows and he was drowning in the taste. Halsin’s blood was as sweet as the honey he favored, but smokey, like a campfire built from well-aged wood. Even more intoxicating than the taste, though, was the energy it sent singing through him. It was like feeling the sun on his face for the first time in two hundred years. He felt like he could do anything. His limbs, so heavy just moments ago, were invigorated and tightened around the druid unconsciously, dragging that sweet blood impossibly closer.
With each gulp, the hunger was pushed farther and farther from his mind. He could drain Halsin and everyone else in the camp dry and it would never disappear completely, but it retreated like a shadow fleeing from the dawn. His mind began to clear, and he felt himself again for the first time since they stepped foot in these forsaken lands. Halsin’s heartbeat had sped up at some point, pumping fresh blood into his mouth with greater strength. Astarion swallowed it down greedily, expecting it to turn bitter with fear, but the taste never changed except to be more...tingly?
He cracked open his eyes—when had he closed them?—and saw that Halsin’s hands were glowing once again with healing magic. Instead of healing Astarion, though, he seemed to be channeling the magic through himself. His heartbeat had sped because he was actively healing himself as Astarion drained him. Gods, how long had he been drinking?
Pulling away from Halsin’s neck took more strength than he thought he had, but after one last swallow, he carefully detached his fangs. Beads of blood welled up from the pinpricks, and Astarion licked them away. Vampire saliva had a coagulating effect, and that combined with Halsin’s healing meant the holes closed within a few seconds.
With effort, Astarion untangled his hand from Halsin’s hair and brought it to his mouth, swiping up any stray blood and licking it off his fingers with efficient movements. It wouldn’t do to waste a single drop, given the precariousness of his current situation. The druid stayed still and silent the entire time, only turning to face him when Astarion moved back, putting some space between them on the furs.
“You taste absolutely divine, darling,” Astarion declared, rolling the pet name on his tongue like wine. He smirked as Halsin’s eyes darkened, even as his stomach churned in disgust. But the druid didn’t pounce and claim his due. Instead, he just chuckled.
“I am glad it was to your liking.”
Astarion let his smirk turn predatory. So the druid wasn’t the type to voice his expectations. That was fine, he could work with that. Maybe put on a little show, put his mouth to a more pleasurable use, and call it a night. He could manage that.
“I can think of a few other things that would be to my liking,” he purred, letting one hand drift down the druid’s chest.
A gentle hand encircled his wrist before he made it even halfway to his goal. He kept his expression nonchalant as he met the druid’s eyes and very carefully quelled his instinct to recoil at the concern he saw there. Why was the druid so concerned all the time? Didn’t he have any other emotions to try out? Or was it just concern and lust that got him through life?
“My blood was a gift, Astarion, one I am happy to give as many times as you need while we are in these lands. I don’t need anything in return.”
On another day, Astarion might have tried harder. He should have, especially after the debacle the day had been. Making sure he had a firm spot in at least one party member’s good graces was the strategic thing to do, and he could see the shuttered lust in Halsin’s eyes. But he was tired.
“Your loss, darling.”
Once again, he felt Halsin’s eyes follow him as he stood from the furs, gathered his ruined shirt from where it had been discarded, and sauntered from the tent. This time, he had enough presence of mind to send a seductive smirk over his shoulder as he left, and he knew he wasn’t imagining things when he saw Halsin take a steadying breath.
The druid might play at unaffected and alturistic, but his control would break eventually. One day, he’d want to collect what Astarion owed him. Until then, though, Astarion had a new source of blood and a strength in his body he hadn’t felt in ages.
. . .
Each night, Halsin offered his blood without claiming any price in return. He became more vocal as the days passed, chatting about the shadow curse, Thaniel, and his time as the archdruid as Astarion fed. He also touched Astarion now, but never in a way that demanded anything more. Just a warm hand cradling his head as he fed, or an arm around his waist to steady him when they decided to try a different angle for feeding. The first night Halsin had touched him, he had been too blood-drunk to notice. It would have been the easiest thing for Halsin to have his way with him then, but when he had finally detached his fangs from the druid’s neck, Halsin’s hands dropped and he let Astarion saunter away just as he had each night before.
Halsin even offered his neck the night he retrieved Thaniel from the Shadowfell. They were all worse for wear after that fight, and Astarion didn’t even want to think about the kinds of things that the druid had no doubt seen as he searched for the fey boy. Yet, after he and Shadowheart had seen to everyone’s wounds, he had sought Astarion out by his tent.
“I apologize, I cannot offer you as much of my blood as usual tonight. My magic is all but depleted. I would not see you go hungry, however.”
For a few seconds, all Astarion had been able to do was stare. Halsin couldn’t heal himself tonight, and he was still willing to share his blood? He had no guarantee that Astarion would stop once he had started, and now he had no way to fix the damage he would cause. Tav had been the first thinking person he had drunk from, and he had killed them.
But there Halsin had stood, clothes tattered from his journey through the Shadowfell, looking guilty for not being able to give Astarion more.
Astarion had drank from his wrist that night instead. He had claimed the druid was too dirty for their usual proximity, and Halsin had laughed ruefully and asked no more questions. His scent didn’t envelop Astarion quite so completely when he dug his fangs into his wrist, and he had been able to pull away after a few deep swallows.
The next day, he had watch Halsin for any signs of wooziness and tried to tell himself that he only cared because they needed all the strength they could get to survive the shadow curse.
So, Astarion kept drinking from the druid, and Halsin kept acting like a perfect gentleman even as the days turned into a tenday turned into two. It was driving him crazy. He had never been one to play the long game before, unless one counted his current attempts to ingratiate himself with Tav and the others. All of his conquests were accomplished in the span of a night or a few days at most. Not...whatever this was. It left him tense, even as the druid’s blood gave him more strength than he could ever remember having.
Then, Tav talked an orthon into killing himself, and Raphael appeared to tell the story of Astarion’s scars. And what a story it was.
Honestly, it shouldn’t have surprised him to learn that his entire undead existence boiled down to being nothing more than a spell component. Condemning someone to undeath for two hundred years just so he could have the right number of spawn for a demonic sacrifice was exactly the kind of thing Cazador would do with glee.
Still.
Tav tried to talk to him about it once Raphael disappeared back to the Hells, but Astarion shrugged him off with some vague musings about the power of the ritual. Any spell that took over two hundred years to prepare had to be powerful, and Raphael had said it would turn Cazador into a Vampire Ascendant. He shuddered to think what Cazador could do with that much power, even as a tiny piece of him dreamed of taking it for his own.
More than anything, though, Raphael’s revelations had left him itching for freedom. The tadpole may have limited Cazador’s ability to compel him for now, but the runes carved into his back were proof he would never be free until he tore out Cazador’s heart himself. There was nothing he could do about that now, though. He just had to fucking wait and pretend that he didn’t want to claw his own face off in fear and anticipation.
When Halsin came to him once again, concern shining in his eyes as clear as day, something in Astarion snapped. He was going to wring some answers out of the druid tonight; he couldn’t keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Astarion let Halsin lead him back to his tent, but when the druid went to lay down, he said, “I’m in the mood to try something different tonight, darling. Sit against those pillows, won’t you?”
Halsin complied as he always did and settled against the pillows with ease. Astarion smirked and lowered himself over the druid until he was straddling his thick thighs and kneeling above him. Halsin’s neck was perfectly level, and the druid tilted it without question.
“Mm, eager, aren’t you?” Astarion purred, letting his breath ghost over Halsin’s skin. The druid didn’t squirm, exactly, but Astarion could hear the slight change in his heart rate.
“I offered you a gift. There is no shame in being eager to give it,” Halsin replied, his voice steadier than his heartbeat. One hand came up to cup Astarion’s neck, and he gently nudged it forward. “Drink, Astarion.”
“Your words are almost as sweet as your blood.” He teased the skin over Halsin’s vein with his tongue for just a moment before sinking his fangs in. Halsin inhaled sharply, but he didn’t move a muscle, even as Astarion began to pull the blood from his veins. It was tempting to drink as much as he could and drown himself in the perfect, earthy flavor, but it wouldn’t do to be blood-drunk tonight. Not with what he had in mind.
Still, he let himself savor the feeling of blood coating his teeth and tongue and throat. He was swallowing sunlight that warmed him from the inside and lingered on his taste buds, and the sensation was just as novel now as it had been after his first drop. He drank slowly, but not deeply, and as his teeth and throat worked, he put the rest of his body to other uses.
His hands, which had begun on Halsin’s shoulders, trailed down his back. He kept the touches light, coincidental, but he was hyper-aware of the way the druid’s muscles jumped under his fingertips. He leaned forward, pressing his torso and pelvis flush against the wall that was Halsin’s chest. He let little shudders of pleasure run through himself as he swallowed each mouthful, and something darkly triumphant purred in his chest when he felt Halsin’s breath catch the first time.
When he finally pulled off of Halsin’s neck, he gave the puncture wounds little kitten licks until they stopped bleeding. He could feel a tiny trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth and smirked. Someone else might have been repulsed by the sight of their own blood on someone else’s lips, but he had a feeling Halsin wasn’t one of those people. He gave one last lingering lick, almost a kiss, to his neck, then sat back on the druid’s thighs.
Halsin’s hands fell away immediately, but there was no missing the lust in his eyes. For a moment, Astarion was sure he had finally pushed the druid to his breaking point and he would finally settle the growing debt between them. His body tensed. Then, Halsin blinked, and concern overshadowed lust once more.
“Did you drink enough, little star? My magic is plentiful tonight, so you can indulge yourself if you wish.”
Halsin had too much fucking restraint for someone who claimed to love unbridled nature and giving into one’s carnal desires. How lucky Astarion was to have centuries breaking that kind of restraint.
“Oh I plan to indulge, don’t you worry.” He gathered the blood that trailed from his mouth on his thumb and carefully licked it clean, holding Halsin’s eyes the entire time. “Like what you see?” he teased, leaning back just a little to allow his purposefully-loose shirt to fall a little further down his shoulder and watching Halsin’s eyes follow the movement.
The druid snapped his eyes back to Astarion’s, conflict clear in his gaze. “It pleases me to see you well-fed and safe,” he answered eventually, which wasn’t exactly what Astarion was looking for. His hands were clenched in the furs on either side of them, like he was keeping himself from reaching out, and Astarion swept one hand down Halsin’s arm to brush over his knuckles in a fleeting tease as he said,
“How generous. But what about your needs, hmm? All these days of giving and giving. Why don’t you let yourself take for a change?” The words were as silky smooth as any line he had ever delivered, even as his stomach churned with sick anticipation of what would come next.
Instead of melting into his touch like anyone else would have, Halsin went still as a rock, and his eyes widened fractionally in an expression all too similar to disgust. Something in Astarion’s chest broke at the sight, and his coy ruse shattered.
“What is it, druid? Too ashamed of your desire for a perversion of nature such as myself?” he hissed, leaning even further into Halsin’s personal space. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, and I know what desire looks like. So take what you so obviously want!”
“Astarion…” His name was barely more than a breath from Halsin’s lips, but it carried enough worry to bury him with the weight of it.
He couldn’t help the laugh that clawed its way out of his throat. “Oh please! Don’t act as if you didn’t think this far ahead, master druid. You’ve got me firmly in your debt and under your thumb, and there are only so many ways I can repay you. So are you going to take what’s yours, or do I have to do all the work myself?”
Halsin took a breath. “Do not—you owe me nothing. I told you during the first night that my blood was a gift and I needed no payment. I meant all that I said.”
Anger flashed through Astarion, hot and biting. “Don’t you dare mock me! Nothing is free.” The scars on his back burned, and the tears welling in his eyes only stoked his anger higher. Had he not endured enough humiliation?
A warm finger brushed the tears away, and Astarion looked up to see Halsin’s face twisted in sorrow. “I am sorry for all of the pain and cruelty you have endured, Astarion, and I am sorry I did not see the truth sooner. I should have been clearer with my intentions.”
Sorry? He was sorry? Astarion wasn’t sure if he should laugh, slap the druid, or collapse into a shuddering mess. In the end, all he could do was stare as Halsin slowly brought his arms up and wrapped them around him in a loose embrace. He let himself be moved until he was leaning against Halsin’s chest, his ear pressed over his steady heartbeat.
“If you want to leave, you need only say the word. I do not seek to trap you anywhere you do not want to be,” Halsin rumbled into his hair. Part of Astarion wanted to yell at him to let go so he could stalk back to the familiar cold of his empty tent, but exhaustion that had nothing to do with his vampiric hunger tugged at his bones. He stayed.
For a long time, Halsin was silent, and eventually Astarion just closed his eyes and waited. He had no idea what was happening anymore, and all he could do was savor warmth while he had it.
Finally, “I am attracted to you, body and spirit, and I have made no effort to hide it. But I did not offer my blood with the expectation that you would give me your body in return. I truly wanted to see you fed, safe, and as content as it is possible to be in this cursed land. It...brings me pleasure to see my friends, to see you, cared for.”
“That is sickeningly earnest of you, darling,” Astarion said after several moments. He said the words more into Halsin’s chest than at him, but a rumbling laugh shook the druid regardless.
“Yes, I suppose it is. I have often been accused of caring too deeply, and I suppose the present circumstance is no exception.” One of Halsin’s hands came up to the base of his skull and began lightly kneading the muscles there. It felt absolutely divine, and this night had already gone so strangely that Astarion didn’t bother to resist the shiver it sent through his body.
“Again, I apologize for not explaining my motivations more clearly. I should have—“
Astarion cut him off with a light swat to his chest. “Shut up. It’s hardly your fault that you decided to befriend someone so thoroughly fucked up I can’t tell the difference between kindness and cruelty.” As soon as the words left his lips, he froze. That was decidedly more than he had intended to say. Halsin’s fingers never stopped their gentle massage, though, and he relaxed again in increments.
Several minutes drifted quietly by, and a thought wormed its way into Astarion’s brain. He shifted in Halsin’s grip until they were face to face. Halsin watched him with warm eyes, and he took his time studying them.
Halsin was entirely unlike any other person he had ever met. Not just in his size, although that was hardly something to be overlooked, but in his character. He was warm in body and heart, generous to a fault, and yet so desperately lonely. Now that Astarion knew what he was looking for, he could see it, and he wondered how he had never noticed it in their previous interactions. For all the strength the druid displayed and all he gave to others, he was fundamentally alone.
It made something in Astarion’s chest ache in a way he hadn’t known he was still capable of.
“You said you were attracted to me ‘body and spirit’,” he echoed, letting just a little bit of the confusion he felt make its way onto his face. “What did you mean?”
Halsin hummed deep in his chest. “Nature outdid itself when it created you, Astarion. You are as beautiful as the moonlight upon snow in the quiet of winter, as cunning as a lynx and twice as agile. You move with grace and control that few other creatures can dream of attaining. Yet it is your heart that radiates beauty the strongest. You mend everyone’s clothes around the camp when you think they will not notice. You act as if your words are nothing more than idle prattle, yet your comments are so often timed to draw us out of the darkness of our minds and memories. You fight the fiercest when you feel one of your companions is in danger, and you lash out in revenge even when it puts your safety at risk. You have been held captive in ways I cannot imagine, but you take joy in seeing people throw off their own chains.
“You are a creature of the darkness, yes, but the darkness is not evil. It is a part of nature as much as light is, and you have reminded me how to see its beauty.”
Astarion could only blink. Finally, his tongue started working again, and the first thing that slipped out was, “Do all druids sound like pastoral poems, or is it just you?” He nearly winced at the words, but Halsin only laughed.
“I imagine I am more likely to wax poetic than most.” His face grew impossibly softer, and he trailed a gentle hand up Astarion’s spine. “I mean the words I say.”
Astarion shook his head. “Of course you do,” he murmured. He didn’t entirely believe Halsin, he couldn’t, but it was hard to deny the honesty and openness in his face. It was nice to think that someone could see those traits in him, even if they were about a mile off the mark of the truth.
Maybe they wouldn’t always be, though.
Mind made up, Astarion leaned in close. “I think I would like to kiss you, now,” he declared. There was a small smile pulling at his lips, but it didn’t feel like the ones he was so used to wearing. Gods only knew what he looked like, crying one moment and asking for a kiss the next.
Concern and want warred in Halsin’s eyes, and instead of raising his hackles, the sight sent a pleasant warmth through him.
“I don’t expect you to return my attraction, little star. There is no need to indulge me.”
“You think I curl up in just anyone’s arms, darling?” Astarion smirked. Then, his confidence faltered slightly, and he glanced to the side. “I don’t want to have sex. Just...just kiss me and hold me. It’s nice.” He could feel the tips of his ears trying to flush, and all of his hard-won instincts screamed at him to flee or make a joke or do anything to cover up how disgustingly vulnerable he was. He fought those instincts back fang and nail and stayed perfectly still, letting Halsin read whatever there was to see.
Slowly, a warm smile spread across Halsin’s face, like dawn over the horizon. “It would be my honor. But you must promise to tell me if I do anything you dislike.”
The tension that had begun to wind itself around Astarion’s insides melted in the face of that smile, and all he could do was huff. “Yes, yes, now stop talking and kiss me.”
Halsin obliged, as he always seemed to do, and as their lips moved together in what was perhaps the chastest kiss Astarion had ever had, he decided that this was a feeling he could get used to. There was no need for either of them to go hungry anymore.