The Embrace of Love and Death

All that humanoid blood over the last few moons—paired with the Potion of Everlasting Vigour Sasha stole from that repulsive drow's laboratory—made Astarion more powerful than he could remember being before.

Wiping his bloody mouth on the rag Sasha always slipped into his pocket before a hunt, Astarion stood. A thought so overwhelming his vision spun intruded on his mini triumph: I'd better enjoy it while it lasts. If Cazador gets his claws in me again, I'll be back on my rat diet before I can say 'Sasha.'

"You'll get this again darling, I promise you," came the usual reply in his head in Sasha's gentle voice. It had become his mantra, his rallying cry against the anxiety of facing his sire. Sasha promised he would never go hungry so long as they were around; they'd also promised they would see him free or die trying.

And they…they told him they loved him. That truth had cost them dearly, but they'd said it anyway.

"I love you too," Astarion pictured himself saying for perhaps the hundredth time. The vision of his darling's face beaming at him as happy tears tumbled down their cheeks like small, precious diamonds came easily. He could feel their hand reaching for his as the other pressed against their heart.

But it was nothing more than a jouska intended to ease Astarion's guilt. For when he had the chance to say the words his tongue would not move. He'd let the moment pass, felt the expectation sink like steel in the ocean between them before Sasha shook off the disappointment and told him they understood.

When I am free, my tongue, too, will be unchained. I'll tell them then; I'll tell them everything I feel, and more.

Shadows of his former master loomed in every corner of Astarion's mind on his walk back to the inn they'd decided to rest in tonight. On instinct Astarion tensed whenever he approached a dark corner, half expecting one of his siblings to come pouncing out for him.

It mattered little that they were still days outside of Cazador's realm of influence. His whispers had begun breaking through Astarion's mental defenses moments after the curse broke. He and his lackies could be anywhere.

Astarion nearly made it back to the inn without incident.

The vampire smelled him before he saw him. A drunkard passed out against the side of the inn, the unmistakable miasma of piss and stale ale hovering beneath the allure of blood sloshing unsteadily through dilated veins.

A quick glance around revealed an alley devoid of witnesses. It would be so…very…easy…to help himself to a little late-night snack, he thought as he crept forward. Certainly easier than catching another deer. Tastier too. More nourishing, certainly. And didn't he deserve a little treat, after a long day of traipsing through woods, dry twigs and dead leaves crackling and crepitating beneath his tired feet?

But no.

He shouldn't.

Fangs bared, Astarion pulled himself away from the drowzy man's neck just in time. He'd promised Sasha: enemies only.

Besides, all he had to do for a nibble was ask his darling nicely. And savoring the sweet taste of love pouring freely from their veins triumphed over stealing sips of ale-addled swill. Mh, Sasha was probably upstairs by now; suddenly he was feeling oh so very peckish.

Astarion had no idea where they were in relation to Baldur's Gate, but judging by the size of the inn this town was a regular stop along a once-thriving trade route. They'd managed to score private rooms! No more resenting the way Gale's thunderclap snores interrupted the symphony of Sasha's heartbeat against his ear. At least not tonight.

A room to themselves also meant…what, exactly? Something ugly snarled inside Astarion. If he weren't so fucking broken and pathetic, it would mean a night of hedonistic delights, fucking Sasha until they were breathless and babbling.

But he was broken. Without fail, when both their hands began to roam and their cocks throbbed with need against each other, there always came a moment when a black void swallowed his mounting excitement. He wanted to want Sasha to touch him. Desperately. He just didn't know how he wanted to be touched.

It was fortunate they both enjoyed cuddles and kisses, he consoled himself as he trod up the stairs. And the inn had a bath, too; perhaps they could bathe each other. That was something, wasn't it? Something indeed…Sasha gave incredible scalp massages, and although they still didn't allow him to return the favor they were beginning to let him scrub their back without tensing up.

And so it was with sudsy daydreams floating lazily through his mind like iridescent bubbles that he burst through the door to their room only to find Sasha attempting to scurry beneath the covers with a squeak of surprise.

"Sweetheart! You…you're back early!" a hollow, tinny voice rang out between the teeth of Sasha's too-wide smile. Although the autumn evenings left the inn rooms crisp—too cold for open windows, not cold enough for a fire—Sasha usually lounged uncovered until it was time to burrow down for sleep. Astarion's complex system of alarm bells blared.

What was his darling hiding? They've been gloomy on the best of days ever since they cut their hair and stowed their makeup away, downright miserable on others.

No…I would have smelled the blood; but what if I got here just in time?

"Show me your arms. Now."

"What?"

"Did I stumble over my words?"

Those dulled sapphire eyes remained downcast, staring at the dusty floorboards in front of Astarion's boots, as they shifted beneath the blankets. Two tanned arms slowly emerged unmarred by the signs of anguish. No sign of bad decisions traced along those darling veins. Astarion exhaled slowly, the seriousness shifting to mischief on inhale.

"Good pet. We can never be too sure, can we? Whatever else could you be hiding, if not a little unsanctioned knife play?"

The closer Astarion prowled and the wider his smile grew, the further Sasha shrunk into the blankets. No makeup needed to turn their cheeks crimson tonight, it seemed.

"N-nothing…"

"No? Then why is my darling Sasha turning scarlet?"

His hands were on the mattress now. At this proximity the scent of arousal was unmistakable; Astarion found himself stirring in response, and he had the overwhelming urge to crush his mouth against theirs.

"Don't…don't tease me. Please." Moist shame welled up at the corners of their eyes, but it was the terrified pout that made Astarion pause. "I'm…trying something. Something that I hope will help me be able to have sex again someday."

"Oh?" Astarion shifted to sit at the foot of the bed, making a slow, deliberate show of removing his boots and hose.

Sasha rolled their eyes. "You're making this harder for me on purpose."

"Am I now? Is it so easy to make things…hard…for you?"

"Star!"

"Sorry, darling, you're just so fun to tease! Do go on. Tell me all about the magic of masturbation."

"You're impossible." They crossed their arms, huffing out a laugh. "But Halsin suggested—"

"Halsin?!"

"Down, boy. I spoke about my intimacy issues with him some days ago. And how I couldn't clearly see the path to enjoying sexual intimacy again. How I don't know how I like to be touched. How warped my views on sex are. And his suggestion was so unremarkably simple it wrapped right back around to remarkable for all that I never thought of it. He suggested I start with touching myself. Rediscovering the joys of touch by my own hand first."

"And? Are you all ready and rearing to fuck now? Magically fixed?"

Sasha hugged their knees as they watched Astarion shrug out of his jacket and begin removing his shirt. "Not even close. It's been…a disaster. I keep losing my mojo. Overthinking it all, feeling guilty for…for thinking of you without your permission."

Gods, this sweet boy. So afraid of infringing on Astarion's autonomy they wouldn't even let their mind roam free, let alone their hands. It was enough to bleed the edge from his voice and give him just enough pause to consider what Sasha had explained.

They were absolutely right: the idea of self-pleasure was so obvious and yet Astarion had overlooked it himself. Would it work? Astarion had resented the pursuit of pleasure for so impossibly long that he hadn't touched himself for his own release in…gods, at least a century. Any manual labor had been for the express purpose of being able to perform for someone else.

Astarion slid his hands down to his waistband, tucking his thumbs beneath the fabric and pausing there. Lips stretched over fangs as he flashed his most charming smile.

"Darling…"

"Yes?" Sasha gulped, meeting his eyes for the first time since Astarion had entered. They shone with nascent hope.

"What if we tried together? We could…craft a little scenario side by side? Perhaps explore our greatest moments together first, before we set our sights on the future?"

Sasha remained silent for several long moments, their eyes never leaving his. The hard sapphire gaze seemed to be inspecting every stripe of his irises like a child overturning rocks in a stream in search of bugs. They thought he was snaring them into a trap.

"We'll set some ground rules, hmm?"

"…okay. Yeah, let's try it."

Astarion tried to ignore the way energy crackled and jolted through his body when Sasha lifted the corner of the blanket in a bid for him to join them. What he couldn't ignore, however, was how undeniably safe he felt as he slid his trousers off and climbed in. How very comfortable he felt as their skin brushed together in this warm cocoon.

He may be a broken mess unable to fuck without feeling like he was being shredded to pulp at a mill, but this? This he could do. He thought. He hoped.

Divider by @/lemongrassgfx

Rising, Halsin sauntered to the water’s edge, crouching low to fish out her necklace. Looking as slight as a thread between his fingers, the pendant tinkled and swayed gently. He lowered its length into his broad palm.

“Though, I must admit… I recall our kiss a little differently,” he murmured.

His acknowledgement snapped Tempest back to attention.

Oh…

“It was real? All this time… I told myself it was nothing but the product of a fever dream. You said nothing of it when we… wait… that conversation… at the bar?” Tears pressed behind her eyes, hot and insistent. She blinked them away, smoothing her hands over her arms, grounding herself.

Halsin studied her quietly for a long moment, running the white-gold links delicately between his knuckles.

“I do not believe in owning another’s heart. They are only meant to be borrowed for a time, before returning to the circle of life.”

Tempest began to pace, memories flickering through her mind at lightning speed.

Again, she was pulled off course by Halsin draping a sheet around his hips, a knowing smirk curving his mouth as he heard her gasp; the linen a poor barrier that left little—if anything—to the imagination.

Halsin turned toward her fully then.

“My own heart remains unchanged—but I have to wonder, have you made peace with yours?”

A pause followed; his gaze softened. “I love deeply, Tempest, and I promise to love well, but I cannot do it for you... Are you ready to share in your own heart?”

Finally, the sorceress mustered the bravery to meet his gaze. Halsin shifted his weight, his body swaying lightly as the song of nature surrounded them.

“I…”

But her own voice failed her, a sudden weight settling in Tempest's chest.

“I see myself in you—a kindred spirit, perhaps.” Halsin chuffed in good humor, seemingly unaware that Tempest was cataloguing each new scar. “You wouldn’t know it to look at me now, but I had quite the reputation for being hot-headed, once. Quite foolhardy, too. It took years, and much suffering, before I learned the value of stillness. The Underdark, the war, the end of my line… they tempered me.”

Tempest squeezed her eyes shut, hand over mouth. Trembling from head to toe.

I can't breathe! 

“You’ve done more with your time than I managed in all my decades—yet, you choose to carry your burdens alone.”

He exhaled—a breath edged with sorrow and acceptance. She interrupted the silence with a sudden, shaky laugh. Halsin snapped around, concern knitting his brow.

“Dammit! Is it just me, or is it stifling in here? Gods—I can’t breathe.” Tempest leaned forward, hands on her knees, gasping loudly.

Before Halsin could reach her, the storm sorcerer ripped the clasp of her cloak—drawing him to an abrupt halt, his warning sending jolts up her spine. “Tempest—”

But Tempest was in full-blown panic mode. She ripped off her frilled shirt, revealing flushed, ample breasts in a lace bustier. Every article of clothing fell to the ground as she shimmied out of her leathers—clumsy, frantic—until she stood before him, breathing sharp and shallow, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Bare but for her small clothes.

Halsin’s voice caught—far too rough, animalistic. He turned his face away sharply, growling under his breath. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening, the glow behind his closed eyes betraying his struggle to wrestle the bear within. Every muscle was in bold relief.

The sight of him alone sent a frisson of thrill through Tempest. Every instinct screamed to run.

I am done running…

“I had to do it. Rid myself of what the civilized world tells me to be. I couldn’t stand it, the feeling of confinement bearing down on me.”

“You should go.” Halsin’s voice warped with an ursine growl, chest heaving.

“No. You bare yourself before me—completely. If I don’t do the same… if I hide behind armor and pretense, after everything you’ve endured… I would wrong you. What was taken from you, in Menzoberranzan… I don’t ever want to be the reason you feel that way again.”

Don’t let me leave, Halsin…

Her words hung heavily between them — like a sacred oath. Halsin’s expression was fierce, jaw tightening; he expelled air with a powerful, rippling shudder, steadying himself. His hands relaxed, fraction by fraction.

“I’ve… behaved appallingly. I’ve been selfish. And foolish.”

Her breath trembled. “Withholding comfort, even when it was offered. When I close my eyes at night… all I see is desolation and death.”

Tempest took a hesitant step forward. Then another. Until she stood under the grand druid’s shadow, mere inches away from a man described as an elf with the presence of a bear.

“But you… You’ve been my constant, Halsin. You even protected me from myself. That means something.”

Sliding a hand against his chest, she revelled in the feel of the light smattering of hair beneath her fingers, feeling the strong beat of his heart thudding against it, taking note as his labored breathing slowed and calmed in the rhythm of it.

“But what can I give you?”

Tempest glanced down, brushing her fingers against his thick wrist, splaying his hand against her lower abdomen, enveloping her naked skin in his heat, then faced him with fragile defiance.