❝ I could no sooner choose a favorite star in the heavens.❞

"Please, my dear, you know by now that I'm hardly a selfish lover," he teased. "You've yet to see all that you're going to get out of this bargain; or rather, feel it. Don't worry, I'll make it worth your while. Have I ever dissapointed?"

Ah, he had her, she was already looking for a place to lay. Lucky for her, he had already planned this far head. He grasped her wrist and tugged, eagerly to pull her towards the edges of their camp. Obviously, anywhere out of sight was out of the question. Much like Duri: Astarion was not eager to be eaten by shadow fiends tonight, thank you very much. He was not going to survive two hundred years of abuse with Cazador to meet a violent and gruesome end in the middle of fucking nowhere.

"Not to worry," Astarion said. "I know the perfect spot."

They had taken camp near some old ruins. The buildings had been torn apart by time and the tremors that split the land, over a century ago. Astarion led Duri around the back of an old stone building, out of sight and probably out of ear shot. The floors were dust strewn and vines grew-up from fissures in the ground, choking the broken remains of the furniture. Astarion kicked aside a few shards of old pottery. Hardly high class digs but certainly more private than a tent.

"Now I won't say that a fire or light spell, cast somewhere near the entrance," he admitted. "Would be a bad idea. Don't want to get interrupted mid bliss, yes?"

But he reeled her in by the wrist, tugging her closer.

No hesitance. Not an ounce of suspicion. Duri allowed Astarion to lead her even further into the darkness, away from the flickering light and long shadows of their campfire and friends. He had said not to worry after all and what reason did she have not to trust? They rounded some of the crumbling ruins behind camp and entered into one of the more intact structures.

Glowing eyes scanned around the ‘perfect spot’ and noted the overgrowth and neglect. Just walking in had left imprints in the layer of dust that had gathered on the floor. Not exactly as romantic as moonlight breaking through a forest canopy but… Duri huffed a laugh as the 

vampire kicked aside jagged pieces of ceramic. It could have been worse and romance wasn’t the mood offered either. Distraction. Fun. Satisfaction. All still perfectly possible; and it wasn’t like Duri was some great lady either. She had been sleeping on the ground for weeks now and was more often than not covered in sweat and blood.

His suggestion to keep Shadows at bay with a  fire spell was easy enough. Duri’s speciality, in fact, and Astarion was more than aware of it. He had seen her scorch enemies into cinders on the battlefield enough times.With a wave of her hand, flames lit up snuffed out torches just outside the doorway.

“There, saaafe-” Astarion pulled Duri closer by the wrist, drawing out her final word and pitching the end higher. The tiefling’s wide-eyed attention snapped back to him. She met his eyes and gave a jittery sort of laugh caused by the large butterflies flurrying around her stomach. Duri knew vampires could be charming, but nothing indicated that spawn had any sort of powers to compel this sort of attraction. This was purely Astarion.

“I decide?” Duri blinked at the question. Confusion turned into a matter-of-fact reply. “Yours. Of course.” The tiefling reached up, toying with the curled hair just by the sharp point of his ear. Was it normal that she really wanted to bite him there or was that a darker urge that she needed to suppress?

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re looking peaked.” She rushed to get the next words out before Astarion could react. The tip of her tail flipping with mild urgency. “LOVELY! Of course. As always, but you look exhausted”  Her free hand caressed softly along a cold cheek, tone quieting. The last the she wanted was for something to happen to Astarion if he kept on fighting with the party without anyone offering blood. The very idea of somebody harming her friend stirred the darker part of her nature.

"I think they'd prefer a more direct method of stick the knife in me instead, and twisting," Ben teased back, "perhaps pour acid in afterwards? Unfortunately, that would torture you just as much. I'm sure everyday they curse how attached at the hip we are. But at least I keep you healthy."

Yes, Ben was just as invested, if not more so, in Rey's health and well being as Finn and Poe. On this account, they were united. Surely, making her seek medical attention would earn him a few positive points in their book? Or, more likely, his good deed would go unrewarded and they would continue to hate him. So, it usually went. At least Rey wasn't going to die of infection.

How strange to be a ghost in a room he was unable to see. Rey talked to him all the way until she encountered others, whose voices and presence Ben only felt as wisps through the force. Echoes he heard in Rey's own ears, touches laying on bare skin, the sudden prod of pain. The numbing medicine easing the discomfort and numbing the area into a strange rubberyness. From his perspective, it was all strange. The way Rey moved before him, walking away and yet going nowhere, as though she was an actress alone on a stage set solely for him. There was a reason they avoided opening their bond in front of others: it was extremely strange. More than once they had quipped something to the other and then turned to find a stranger staring in befuddlement, wondering why they were talking to an empty room.

Because of this, besides a few quips and questions he knew she wouldn't answer, Ben remained quiet. Arms crossed but watching the progress of her healing with intent interest and a stubborn patience. The best he could do besides being their personally to ensure that the medical team did nothing improper or wrong. Still, trying to get her to crack a smile at nothing, even if it was to distract her from the pain and discomfort, brought Ben a particular amount of joy.

"You know, I think they should do another stitch," he teased, as the med droid sowed her up. "Make sure to tell them that."

Of course, she did not.

But then, Rey's eyes slid to him. Almost inviting him directly into the space. As if for a moment, he was there with her. He could smell the medicines and cleaning fluids; the tangy, metallic blood; and the sweat clinging to her skin. See the glare of the white lights. All that instead of the verdant greenery of the forest and the cool breeze brushing his skin dry everywhere it kissed. But no, Ben was where he was, and Rey was where she was. Light years and light years apart, they could not see, could not hear, could not touch, except for the strange tether between them, entangling their minds, thoughts, senses, feelings. One person, two bodies; completely individuals and completely the same. Yet, that did not mean he could wrap his arm fully around Rey and pull her to his chest, and be there, really there. She was hurt, and he was here, and these were the strange lines they drew between each other.

"No, no need to rush off," Ben agreed, although he did think about it. He always got antsy when she was away for too long. They were, unfortunately, quite attached to each other. "For now. So long as you actually do what the doctors say and mind your injury. Right?"

He lifted an eyebrow. In the space of their bond they settled next to each other. It was as if Rey laid out on the bench beside him, curled onto her side. Tentatively, he touched her hair. Uncertain if she was alone or not, yet he could brush his knuckles along the soft strands of bronze. The energy of the force fizzling between them, like static.

“Right.” She whispered, again, just for him. Ben’s acquiescence was more than a smidge comforting. He heard her, saw that Rey was not in a dire situation, and agreed that he did not need to abandon everything and intervene. If it helped him feel better she would agree too. Rey wasn’t stupid or reckless - as a general rule - she did not plan to stress herself out or cause further damage.

Her hazel eyes warmed, watching as Ben settled in closer to her. Their faces were near enough she could see the constellation of marks that flecked his cheeks and the intensity in his dark eyes. He reached for her and his fingers ghosted along loose strands of her hair. It didn’t actually feel like his hand, in the right sense. Instead it was fuzzy and muted - a weak approximation of an actual intimate touch. It sent a pang of loss through Rey’s chest, suddenly feeling hollow and wrong. It wasn’t quite the feeling like something was missing, the feeling before she met Ben, but it still hurt. After all Rey’s adamant protesting that Ben didn’t need to run to her, now she sort of wished she had lost.

With her wound now properly cleaned and bandaged, no sand rubbed into it at all, Rey was left alone. Her instructions were to take as much time as she needed and to take it easy. Ben would approve of both. Rey didn’t argue against having a private moment with her other half.

“I feel alright. They did a good job. Less fussing than you, though.” The playful jab had just a few notes of melancholy. Rey reached, intercepting Ben’s hand by her hair and took it in her own hand. Her fingers ran along his calloused skin before sliding properly into his palm. Once again, the feeling was skewed, but it reminded her of when they first began to lower their guards with each other. It was unique to them, even when Rey had felt the presence of the Jedi that came before her, none of them could touch her in this way. 

“I miss you.” It was the truth and the only thing that felt right to say. They had teased about her friends taking violent revenge against him, snarked, quipped, argued, and everything else possible in the galaxy other than admit this singular fact.  She tried to focus on him, to push away her current sterile and dull surroundings and see him above anything else. Rey was able to snatch a few glimpses, just a bit of the setting where Ben was - somewhere green and alive and enveloped in cool air rather than stagnant dry sands.

“Don’t rush here.” She was sticking to her guns. “but I wish I was with you.” Rey chewed on her lip, it was chapped from exposure and stung slightly. Her entire life had been working for somebody else, just trying to survive, or tackling some impossible goal. Even now she had a purpose to serve and it wasn’t herself. Had she ever done anything just for herself? Jedi weren’t supposed to be selfish were they?

Her eyes opened, a grin playing on her lips as she looked over at Rolan. He braced himself beside her, laying a kiss to her shoulder. Basil lifted the arm over her forehead and tugged her fingers through the sweat soaked bronze strands of his hair. Admired their natural wave and how they curled just slightly at the ends. She pulled the damp strands off the back of his neck and in the same gesture, admired him. The slight part of his lips and the handsomeness of his features. Those golden eyes, the heat of which she could now identify, and put to name the lust behind them. A desire, that no doubt, would come to inflame Basil at a mere glance. Remembering how the heft of his cock fills her wet cunt, ensuring that primal need claims her again, and again.

"Yes, it's perfect," Basil laughed. She ran her knuckles along the angle of his jaw, fond and admiring. That damnable smile of his. As pleased as a cat with his bowl of milk. "There's far less books in here than I thought there'd be. I was certain I'd be competing for space on the bed."

He eyebrows lifted, teasing. Basil hooked her fingers behind his jaw, thumb running over his cheekbone. She guided him towards her, closing the last couple of inches of space. Their lips brushed, light and gentle, before she savored the taste of him again. She knew she could spend all night basking in Rolan's heat and love, but that did not mean her beau's endurance matched hers. For now, she was content to hold him and be held, and especially to steal kisses.

"And my lover was pretty good too," she added. "I am feeling utterly satisfied with him and completely, and stupidly, in love. He should be very pleased with himself, which, no doubt he is."

Basil wrapped her arms around Rolan and pushed him to roll the over, allowing her to settle more comfortably on his chest. if the press of his softened cock inside of her was pleasurable, well, that was certainly her business.

Basil laughed at his remark and Rolan’s grin widened, appreciating the way it brightened her features. For the first time since they had known each other, there was no life or death to consider. It was a heady feeling that wrapped the moment into a perfect bow, completing the gift that was the cleric’s declaration of love for him. Perfect.

“My books are in the study. Where they belong.” His brow furrowed as he made the statement. It was obvious that they would be in their correct location, had he not told her about the pains he had gone through trying to catalogue everything since taking control?  Of course he gave his books as much - no, MORE- respect than hegave his socks...and those were color coded in their drawer. “I am not Lorroakan, I would never just have magic tomes strewn about haphazardly.” Of course, the reason for that was because the previous master of the tower was barely literate and had sometimes attempted to create impressive sculptures out of the library or just randomly cast the books aside without care. The way that only rich people who had never needed to earn or work could. Anything else he might have added was headed off by a kiss as Basil tilted his jaw to bring him closer. Rolan had no objections, surrendering his thoughts for the sake of more kisses and affection.  

“No doubt.” His golden eyes were heavy lidded as he enjoyed the luxury of her praise, tail swaying with contentment. He was pleased with himself. Basil had been rather forthcoming in her enjoyment of him and it had not been an affectation. Utterly satisfied and stupidly in love. He felt the same. Also tired. Rolan was by no means without stamina, but Basil had rested since the defeat of the Netherbrain whereas he had remained awake, stressed and tense as he waited to hear from her post battle. He allowed Basil to roll him over, his grip tightening to cradle her close to his chest. There was a vague pleasure at the shift in position, the feeling of her breasts pressed to him, but nothing that required action at the moment. Tomorrow.  

“Very pleased. My cleric.” He slid his hands down her body, claws tracing down her spine lazily. He had a grudging willingness to share her with her god. Not that he had a choice in the matter. He could accept anything Basil offered. “You have no competition with books, anyone, or anything else to be in my bed.” Rolan admitted, a bit sheepishly. The comfortable silence stretched on and they lay together. He could feel the thump of her heart softly and the rise and fall of her breath as he bega to drift.

Ozai possessed a cunning which Zuko simply did not inherit. Father and daughter, were liars by nature, bending the wills and fears of others to suit the machinations of their designs. Power, ran in their blood. Beneath the auspices of Ozai's care, Azula had thrived. Azula did not know where the letters were. However, she knew their father and she could think like their father. This had been, since their births, the most fundamental difference between them and the deciding factors in each their fates. So very strange how the story twisted at the end: Zuko upon the throne and Azula exiled. The post-war era had no use for monsters like Ozai and Azula; but every need for men like Zuko.

But she guessed correctly: Zuko would struggle to find Ozai's secrets alone. And so, he returned to her. Quietly, this told Azula something of their father's posture. He had given Zuko nothing but smoke to grasp and chase. This too had not changed from their childhoods.

"He did not burn them," Azula said imperially. "He would never burn them. Think: A man who burns his letters is ashamed and afraid of the secrets they contain. Ozai held no such shame for our mother. No, those letters are evidence of his power." She lifted her chin. "He would be proud of them."

She sighed, a brief relief of the tension in her shoulders. Azula walked to the railing, standing a few feet from Zuko. Plenty of space between them, they had never been close siblings. Her gaze trawled the pond in search of the fish that hid among the lotus roots and the dragonflies hunting prey over the flowers. Azula collected her thoughts, a moment of calculation. People, secrets, power, were known quantities, they could be added and subtracted. As easy as doing her sums.

"I see before you two options," Azula said. "You can describe to me, in detail, where you have looked and I will tell you where I think you could look next. You may return to the palace and we will correspond by letter, to systematically hunt down our father's hidings spots. In an amount of time, I am certain we will uncover them. Or."

Even Azula found that she did not like her next proposal. Some, quiet part of her resisted it. The part that had settled in the abbey and feared the world outside. That knew in her current state she was prey, not predator. The world no longer adored monsters like her and even worse, did not fear her. A dragon without scales was little more than a serpent to be trod underfoot.

“Right. I should know better than anyone that Father only burned things he was ashamed of.” The response came out so sullen and edged with the onset of fury that Zuko just felt worse. Only this time he could include himself as a target for his temper, not just his father and sister. Zuko should not have let Azula under his skin, falling into the trap of the old routine he had been trying to break from. He did so well back home, but it was easier for him when he was separated from the main sources of issues.

Muscles tensed more as Azula approached, jaw clenching as he tried to reign in his anger rather than release it to cause problems and derail the conversation. It wouldn’t be productive, he had to focus if he was going to find Ursa. Zuko took a steadying breath in through his nose and held it in his scarred chest. When he felt his pulse finally slow, he released the breath again.  Azula kept her distance, leaning against the railing out just out of reach of each other. Not that the space meant Zuko would be safe from Azula if she actually meant to hurt him. She was deadly from any posture if she wanted to be. Probably would be wise to keep an eye on her even while she slept. It was just Zuko’s luck right now that Azula’s current desire was not to cause him harm. Instead, she chose to look out over the pond in silence. Matching pairs of gold eyes watched the peaceful scene, each trying to figure out how to progress.

When she finally spoke, Zuko gave her his attention, turning his face towards Azula and giving her words his undivided attention. The first option of her proposal lacked efficiency and meant locating his mother would take far more time than Zuko wanted; eight years had been too long already. Somehow, the alternative was even worse. Biting back the instinct to shoot the idea immediately, Zuko observed Azula in silence.  She didn’t like it either. The realization struck him and further extended his pause as confusion and possibilities  whirled through his mind. Why would Azula not want to leave? All her cunning and ambition would return to the palace if the Fire Lord chose to release her. She would have a chance to escape, start a coup, whatever she desired. Even so, he could sense his sister’s hesitance, just a glimpse of it. Could that be a performance? A way to lull Zuko into a false sense of security, along with all the cooperation and assistance Azula had granted him so far? She called him the Fire Lord and let the choice be his….and yet Azula was brilliant at manipulation. His control could be an illusion she was trying to cultivate. A misdirection before she snapped her trap closed.

And yet…

He wanted to trust her. His sister. Despite a lifetime of experience that should direct him otherwise, Zuko had the inexplicable feeling that Azula was not lying to him. It would be faster to find the letters or convince Ozai if Azula was with him rather than writing letters back and forth. Was he really that stupid? Was it stupid? Zuko released a sigh and faced the pond again. Since taking the throne Zuko tried to do much of the work on his own, but this choice was not something he could make without guidance. He was too close to it. He needed to talk to Iroh. Zuko had failed to take his Uncle’s advice when it came to Azula before and regretted it each time. Iroh would know what to do now.