#f!tav

Another sleepless night.

The orb pulses beneath my skin, each throb a reminder of my predicament.

I implore my mind to wander to the events of our journey, to the challenges that lie ahead, in pursuit of a worthwhile distraction. But the orb’s hunger grows stronger, like a raging maelstrom, each tribute to its insistent pull a mere ripple against the tide of its endless consumption. Perhaps I should consult the others about–

… Voices drift from outside my tent before I can finish my thoughts. Curious.

Hushed laughter and whispered words. Astarion's distinctive timbre and… you.

The sound is soft, subtle - a quiet exchange. Yet, here I am, catching fragments of something private, something perhaps not intended for outside ears.

I shift, the faintest spark of curiosity pulling me from my solitude. It's innocent, surely - a late-night conversation, perhaps a shared joke. And yet, as the moments pass, I can't ignore the intimacy in your laughter, the way Astarion's voice drops to that silken murmur he reserves for his attempts at enticement.

Just a glance, I tell myself. Merely to understand what could be so amusing at this hour.

Slowly, carefully, I draw back a sliver of canvas, just enough to peek through.

My breath catches as my eyes adjust to the firelight outside. There, on the other side of the campfire, resting against a fallen log, you sit beside him, close - very close - your faces inches apart.

Your legs are entwined, and there’s an intensity in the way you look at each other. I’m taken aback by the hunger in the kiss that follows - one neither timid nor restrained. Your hands begin to explore each other with what I can only call fervour - the kind of urgency I hadn't known either of you possessed, let alone with each other. 

The way you move together speaks of raw desire rather than tender affection - this is clearly a new physical relationship.

When did this start? How did I miss the signs? Though perhaps I was too caught up in my own concerns to notice the lingering glances, the way you always seemed to find reasons to be near each other…

I tell myself it’s simple curiosity that keeps me here, observing. A certain academic interest, if you will. After all, Astarion has always been something of a hedonist - a man who indulges in his desires with a recklessness I sometimes envy, though rarely approve. But to see him like this - in action, as it were - offers a unique perspective on his character.

You murmur something I cannot make out, a teasing lilt in your voice, and Astarion laughs in that rakish, honeyed tone of his, as though thrilled to have you so wholly entranced. His hands grip your waist, and with a practised grace, he pulls you into his lap, the hem of your skirt spilling around you both. As his hands settle on your hips, you grind against what I can only assume to be a prominent hardness in his trousers, judging by the satisfied smirk on his face. 

You seem eager, pliant under his touch, responding in ways I confess I hadn’t thought you capable of - no, not like this. Not with him.

My heart hammers in my chest, a tension spreading through me that’s… increasingly difficult to ignore. And yet, I remind myself, this is mere observation, nothing more. A clinical exercise in understanding the intricacies of interpersonal attractions between a vampire and a mortal; the undercurrent of danger that befalls such an arrangement.

He holds you with a blend of confidence and entitlement that borders on decadent, his mouth at your neck, lips brushing against your skin with a maddening leisure that’s somehow indulgent and teasing all at once. His fangs linger there and, for a moment, my heart stops - surely he wouldn’t… Ah, no. No, he’s not feeding. He merely kisses your neck, fangs scraping lightly against your throat - close enough to tempt and tantalise. I see the goosebumps flare on your skin.

He whispers something low and unintelligible, and you let out a soft giggle, yielding in a way that speaks of trust - trust that’s he’s earned, somehow, despite his nature.

And then your hand drifts between you both, touching him through his trousers.

Gosh. I hadn’t thought you so bold.

Astarion’s body arches into your touch, his gaze darkening as he watches you with a hunger that’s both terrifying and… strangely beautiful. I find myself entranced, my breath shallow as I observe the way your fingers trace over him, the way he leans into you. The noise he makes when your fingers flex, squeezing him gently over the fabric… Gracious. 

There’s a strange, reluctant curiosity building within me. I should look away. I should grant you both the privacy you likely assume you have. And yet, my gaze remains fixed, drawn to the details of your encounter: the way his hands tighten on your waist, the way your breaths synchronise, the way he murmurs softly into your ear…

I am aware - painfully so - of the ache low in my body that has built with each passing moment, each glance, each touch. I am no stranger to restraint - I have spent years tempering my desires, sacrificing comforts in the pursuit of knowledge, of power. Yet, here, now, I feel that restraint begin to falter; to dissolve like ink in water, dispersing until it is all but unrecognisable. It has been so long, after all. So, so long.

When your hands move to the waistband of his trousers, my breath catches. Gods above, surely you won't, not out in the open... but yes. Yes, it seems you will.

When you pull him free, well - I’ve always wondered about vampire physiology, purely academically, of course. But the sight of him prompts rather less scholarly thoughts. He’s impressively endowed - perhaps it is wishful thinking to believe that this is but another gift of his condition. It’s fascinating how vampiric transformation affects every part of the body - he’s almost luminescent in the firelight, every inch of him perfect and unmarred. I notice the veins that trace along his length, faintly visible beneath his skin. He is, even now, a study in confidence, exuding a subtle power that one can only achieve when utterly comfortable in one’s own skin.

Your hand wraps around him, sliding up and down his length at a teasing pace, drawing forth a sound I have never heard our pale companion make - a soft, broken gasp, caught somewhere between a moan and a sigh. It sounds almost reluctant, as though he hadn’t meant for such a sound to slip past his lips. He twitches under your ministrations, and his grip on your hips tightens enough that there will surely be bruises tomorrow.

My fingers rest at my thigh, trembling ever so slightly. A small part of me - a remnant of reason, perhaps - tells me to pull back, to look away, to let this moment pass without surrendering to the need that has taken root within me. But my body, the traitorous thing it is, does not heed such commands. Instead, I find my hand drifting lower.

My fingers trace over the fabric of my trousers, over the aching hardness beneath. A gentle palming, barely enough to ease the tension that coils tighter with each passing moment as I watch the scene unfold.

Your hands elicit quiet murmurs from Astarion that grow deeper and more insistent with each passing moment. For a moment, the two of you share a look - one of conspiratorial mischief, perhaps - and then a soft, shared giggle, the sound mingling with the crackling of the fire. 

You're so utterly engrossed in him; so utterly unselfconscious.

You shift, a question in your eyes, and as he nods, giving his assent, you rise just enough to shift, positioning yourself over him. Your skirts drape around you both, providing a veneer of modesty, though there's no mistaking what follows when you sink yourself down on to him. The way your lips part in a gasp as he enters you, the way his head falls back with a victorious grin - it makes the tightness, the great ache between my legs, almost unbearable.

I find my hand slipping beneath my waistband.

Just a little relief, I tell myself. Just enough to ease this maddening tension.

There is a certain poetry to it, I suppose - this surrender to the pleasures of the flesh. I allow myself to imagine, as my hand finds the throbbing heat of my arousal, what it might feel to be in your place, to have someone look at me with that same confidence, to experience touch imbued with the certainty of one who knows precisely how to elicit pleasure - a knowledge gleaned from centuries, no doubt, of indulgence and conquest.

It’s enough to leave me aching for more than mere observation.

The fervour with which you move against him… it’s hypnotic, each roll of your hips drawing forth increasingly wanton sounds from you both. Astarion's carefully crafted demeanour gives way to something more roguish, a playful daring that glints in his eyes as you rise and fall and rise and fall on his length.

I find my hand instinctively matching your rhythm, every shift and motion, as though I, too, am bound to the undulating tempo that you and Astarion have created.

Gods… what must it be like to be him? To have someone so openly, eagerly drawn to you, meeting every touch with matching fervour? To hold someone close and feel their raw desire, the thrill of each laugh, each gasp, offered without hesitation? I wonder what it must be like to inspire such a response, to be desired so freely, without need for pretence or restraint?

With Mystra, I was ever the pursuer, striving tirelessly to earn even the barest hint of her approval, each moment together feeling like an examination I desperately hoped to pass. But Astarion… well. He needn't chase or convince. Despite his vampiric nature - or perhaps, in part, because of it - he is simply desired, freely given all that I once had to beg for. The inequity of it all would be rather poetic, if it weren't so personally vexing.

“A-ah!”

Your gasp cuts through my ruminations, pulling me back into the scene.

Astarion’s hand has slipped between you, guiding you to that final crescendo with a practised touch. The sight of it is utterly spellbinding: his fingers moving with a precision that speaks to centuries of experience, knowing just where to press, where to linger. The control he exercises over you is enviable, each movement of his hand coaxing you closer to that peak, his attention wholly focused on your reaction, even as your hips rock back and forth on his length with an increasingly frantic, unrestrained urgency.

The way your eyes roll back... Gosh.

The expression on your face, one of pure, unfiltered abandon, is a sight to behold.

Your body trembles as you reach your peak, and a sound - a cry, too loud in the stillness of the night - escapes your lips. Astarion’s palm clamps over your mouth, a futile attempt to muffle you in the throes of your climax. Though he hushes you, his expression suggests that he is not in the least bit concerned. In fact, he seems rather pleased - more than pleased, really. 

There’s a thrill in such a public display for him too, no doubt.

I swallow, the sound almost too loud, my heart pounding against my ribs as though it seeks to betray me. Astarion's head tilts slightly, his gaze flickering to the shadows, and for one heart-stopping moment, I think he has sensed me, that his attention has shifted from you to this invisible interloper, the scholar caught red-handed in his quiet act of voyeurism.

Could he... sense me here, lingering on the fringe of his private moment? Could he smell the stir of my own arousal, feel the faint tremor of my breath as I fight for composure? For several heartbeats, my hand freezes. I dare not even breathe.

But then his attentions return to you, and I breathe a sigh of relief. 

He brings his hands to your hips, holding them firmly in place as he drives himself upwards into you, deeper, with mounting desperation. It seems he seeks to chase his own release, content with the pleasure he has wrought you.

You respond eagerly, pressing closer, your own sounds growing louder, heedless of who might hear, and I can see that thrill in his face - the satisfaction of knowing he’s eliciting every reaction from you, drawing out each gasp, each shudder.

My hand glides hastily across my arousal, my own breathing growing ragged as I watch his control begin to slip. Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his head tips back in pure abandon.

In the final throes, he presses himself against you, buried firmly to the hilt. It’s almost animalistic, all thoughts, all calculated movements, making way for one singular goal: to empty himself into you, filling you with all he has to offer with breaths rugged and low. All composure is stripped, replaced with instinct and pure need.

I find my own movements quickening to match his pace, as though some invisible thread binds us all to this moment. My hand tightens as I lose myself in the same tempo, every sound from you both spurring me closer. The sight of his final shudder, the look of utter satisfaction crossing his face as he reaches that height, is enough to tip me over the edge.

For a heartbeat, the night seems to hold us all in perfect suspension - your quiet gasps, his satisfied murmurs, my own silent echo of shared pleasure - all woven together in this clandestine tableau.

Only then, as the euphoria begins to fade, does a most uncomfortable awareness creep in.

Gods above, what have I... A scholar of worldly acclaim, reduced to voyeur, caught up in base desires like some common... No. Best not to dwell on such things. Though I suspect sleep will prove rather elusive tonight, haunted by questions of propriety and... other matters.

With a groan, I roll onto my back, the orb’s steady throb now a minor annoyance compared to the tangled thoughts that flood my mind. Perhaps I can chalk this entire… incident up to fatigue, a wandering mind, even a fevered dream. Yes, that must be it. The product of a restless night and, possibly, a touch of indigestion. After all, who could believe that I, Gale of Waterdeep, would be brought so low as to... well, that.

As morning light spills across camp, I attempt a façade of normalcy, willing my cheeks to cool and my mind to settle. Just as I convince myself the night’s events were nothing more than a peculiar dream, Astarion sidles up, his expression one of leisurely amusement.

"Restless night, Gale?” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. His gaze is as sharp as his tone, a knowing glint in his eyes that makes my stomach twist in the most uncomfortable way. "I thought I heard a... stirring from your tent."

The corner of his mouth quirks up in that infuriatingly smug way of his, and I nearly choke on my response. 

He knew. 

Astarion knew. 

I force a cough, pretending to inspect the morning sky.

"A dream," I reply a bit too quickly. "Perhaps the cheese at dinner was... overly ripe."

But Astarion merely chuckles, a wicked sound, before strolling away with a satisfied air. And as I watch him saunter off, I’m left to question just how much of the night was a dream - and how much, mortifyingly, was very, very real.

Masterlist can be found here!

As you promised him he could still feed from you that night before wandering off to help Karlach find Clive after moving camp, his mind wandered to all the nights you had spent staying awake with him, even when your eyelids got heavy with sleep, just because you had realised on the off chance that he wasn’t a fan of sitting alone with his thoughts – only needing four hours of trance wasn’t always a benefit, he realised. 

He was so sure he had you under his thumb. Even exhausted, you would offer your neck to him, letting him feed from you to feel stronger, despite you having to limp to Shadowheart the next morning and deal with the reprimands on top of the headache and bloodloss. You had even listened to him about Cazador without interrupting – really listened to him, for the first time in his life. Why on earth would you do all that for him if you didn’t want something in return?

Everything came at a price, and he knew that better than most. 

Instead, all you asked for was his company. Why his company he wasn’t sure, but you seemed satisfied enough tucked into your bedroll in his tent on the odd nights that you struggled to get to sleep, or tucked in against against his chest on the even rarer nights that your nightmares kept you awake, despite his lack of soothing heartbeat or warm embrace. 

Feather-light touches and the occasional stolen kiss, taken in the depths of the night when you were both exhausted and the others were long since asleep were all he managed to draw from you. Whenever his lips began to trail downwards, playing with the edge of your collar and ghosting over that oh-so-delicious pulse point of yours, you would simply shift to lay before him, neck bared for him to feed. He very rarely said no, but never did he ask why? Were his intentions not obvious? Your pulse always quickened when he touched you, your blood pumping infuriatingly just below his lips as the fine hairs across your body stood on end and your skin heated under his touch. Had the tadpole removed his charm and appeal just as it had removed the need for him to stay in the shadows? How would he ever survive if he didn’t have his charms? 

Nevertheless, he continued to try. 

Tonight was not unlike the other nights the two of you had stayed up long past the others turning in, sitting comfortably beside one another in front of the fire in silence. You watched the flames as he flicked through the tattered pages of a book he had subtly borrowed from Gale’s bag earlier in the day. Despite how enthralling it was, his eyes kept glancing over to you as you seemed to zone out, the gentle glow of the dying firelight bringing your irises to life. He sometimes wondered what they had looked like before they had seen so much death and destruction. He wondered if he also carried that signature dullness that came with a fight for survival. 

“You can drink from me tonight if you want,” you spoke up, eyes not moving but still aware of his lingering looks. 

“Darling, I thought you’d never ask,” he forced a coy smile as he closed the pages of his book. That wasn’t why he had been looking at you, but it was hard to deny he was hungry after a day of fighting. You stood slowly, brushing the sandy soil from your trousers before nodding to his tent,

“Yours or mine?” you asked with a small smile, but it was more weary than relaxed. 

“Wherever is more comfortable.”

You moved towards your shelter, pulling the tent flap back for him before settling down on your bedroll, laying stiffly again and turning your head away for him to access your vein. 

“You needn’t make it so clinical, you know,” he breathed a laugh, kneeling beside you and watching as you shifted, pulling yourself up onto your elbows. 

“I just thought it was easier,” you spoke softly. He paused for a moment before gesturing for you to sit up and turn away from him. A little awkwardly in the small space, you did as he asked, instantly relaxing as he pulled your back against his chest, situating you between his thighs. 

“I think we are beyond making things easy,” he chuckled, nose brushing against your cheek as he brought his mouth to your neck. Instinctively you tilted your head away to allow him closer. How you longed for him to be closer.

There was something about this that felt so much more intimate than anything you had done before. You might have spent night after night asleep beside him, stealing the occasional coy kiss as he leaned in to feed, but this was different. Every inch of your skin was on fire, but every muscle was tense. 

Breathing in deeply, you prepared yourself for the stab of fangs and the steady draw of blood, but it never came. Instead, his soft lips planted themself carefully against your pulse point, lingering for a second before repeating the motion again and again, trailing beyond the scarring that had begun to permanently etch itself into your skin. 

“‘Starion, wait…” Your voice halted his movements down your neck. He didn’t miss how your pulse quickened and your muscles tensed beneath his lips. Had he been misreading your signals again? He sat back, evidently hurt – bewildered about how he could have gotten it sowrong yet again. 

“I’m sorry, I-I’ll leave you be,” he fretted, starting to move backwards despite the sweet scent of your blood just below your skin begging him to move back in closer again. 

“No, wait, you can stay!” you pleaded, eyes sad as you looked up at him from your spot on the floor. Subconsciously, you pulled into yourself, arms wrapping around your legs as they tucked against your chest. 

He scoffed quietly, “everytime I stay I seem to read everything wrong – not something I am accustomed to, I must say. I think it’s best if I hunt for something else tonight. Save us both a little embarrassment.” 

“No, no it isn’t that, it isn’t you – I swear,” you rushed to soothe him, the lines of his anxiety noticeable on his face. “I-,” you paused for a moment, wondering how to put it in a way he might understand. Against your will, tears sprang in the corners of your eyes, a burning heat rolling down your cheek as one fell, your breathing feeling harder as your chest tightened. Everything always ended like this. “I’m sorry,” you forced out with a breath, trying to calm your emotions as your body tore itself between grief and self-hatred. 

“What on earth for?” It was rare for Astarion to sound so thrown off balance, but as the tears continued to fall down your cheeks, he was left jilted, not knowing if reaching out to touch you would make everything better or worse. Instead, he just watched on. 

“I struggle with stuff like this. With intimacy. I don’t know why, or when it started. I just find it hard to connect to it, no matter how much I want to. I used to be fine. More than fine. But then one day… It’s like what is between my ears and what is between my legs don’t quite communicate anymore. Even if I want you, and by the gods I do, not everything responds how I might want it to…” you trailed off as you pushed the tears from your face, aware of how pathetic you must have looked before him. Your cheeks burned as you let the tears roll down them. You had lost track of how often you had cried over not feeling normal, the hot droplets now simply rolled in their usual tracks rather than stream from your eyes in wracked sobs. 

He stood quietly for a moment as if taking your words in. Then, in a moment that confused you, he laughed, pushing out a harsh breath and sat back down in front of you in disbelief. Your furrowed eyebrows must have given away how confused you were. 

“Well,” he began before pausing again. “We are perhaps more similar than I thought.” You looked at him quizzically. 

“But you were always looking to instigate and I-” he shook his head,

“Darling, I thought that was what you wanted. You have always been so… nice to me. Why on earth would you do that if you didn’t want anything satisfying in return.” 

It was your turn to scoff, “I can be nice to you just because I enjoy your company, you know,” you rolled your eyes, looking bashfully down at your hands through blurry tears as they fiddled with the cuffs of your trousers. “You don’t have to do anything for me in return just because you feel obliged too.” An awkwardness sank in your chest as you worried all the nights he spent holding you to help you sleep were only because it would make it easier for him to drink. The idea of him forcing himself to try to please you for the sake of maintaining you as an acquaintance. 

Much to his annoyance, his own chest tensed at the sight of you so anxious – but how could he deny himself? You were the first person to ever care for him without the demand for sex. How could he not love you for that? 

“I think you misunderstand me, my love. I did that because I thought you wanted it, because I wanted you to stay by my side. I -” he faltered, “I didn’t want to lose you.” he nearly whispered. He coughed awkwardly, “And now, knowing that you weren’t in it for my devilish good looks, well, that makes me the fool, I suppose. I’ve never had anyone who listened to me just because they wanted to. Hells, I don’t remember the last time someone actually listened to me at all. 

“You see, I had this plan. A nice, simple plan – seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me. It was easy – instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it and all I had to do was not fall for you. But then you went and derailed it all and I fell for you anyway. My nice simple plan fell apart.”

You took in his words for a moment. You felt like you should have been hurt by his confession, but you felt nothing but love as you looked at the elf before you, being vulnerable for the first time in his waking memory. Your heart melted. 

“I still want you, Astarion. I love you too. And if you are okay with my issues then I want something real with you. If you will have me.” Your eyes searched his as you waited for him to respond. 

“Issues?” he quizzed, “these so-called issues aren’t issues to me,” he breathed. “Being close to someone – any kind of intimacy – was something I performed to lure people back for him. Because of that it all feels… tainted. Disgust, loathing… No matter how much I’d like to, I don’t know how.” 

A fresh assault of tears burned in the corners of your eyes again. All you could do was collapse forward into his arms, wrapping your arms pathetically around his waist as you practically sat in his lap, hands fisting into the loose material of his shirt. His hands found your back hesitantly, hovering just above the fabric of your well-worn night shirt before finally closing in on your warm skin. He could feel your steady heartbeat through your ribs, drawing him back into you as he rested his sharp chin on your shoulder, his nose buried in your neck as he accepted your warmth again. 

“Can I kiss you?” you murmured softly, against the shell of his ear as you leaned back slightly, stifling a laugh at how it twitched ever so slightly as your breath fanned across it. 

“Please.” 

Your lips met his tentatively as his hand reached to cup your face, his rouge-like touch instinctively light.

You slowly open your eyes as the hustle and bustle of the Lower City awakens your senses. Clearly morning, but you find your lover Astarion at your side, nestled under the blankets. Seldom do your sleeping and trance schedules match up — par for the course when your lover is a vampire spawn — but the mornings that they do are extra special. You look to him and gently brush a stray curl behind his ear before getting up to pull the shared datebook off the shelf. 

Neither of you are particularly good with the “planning” aspect that comes with a datebook, but it at least helps you keep track of whatever jobs you were hired for. You flip through the pages, finally landing on 19 Ches. Spring Equinox, I nearly forgot! The leaf in the corner of the page signifies the changing season, meaning the days would only get longer from here, leaving Astarion less time for his assassin hires, or “murdering the right people,” as he puts it. You flip through the past months, checking the timeline of everything that happened since you removed your tadpoles and moved in with Astarion. We saw everyone about a week ago, so that means…

As the unfortunate realization hits you, a familiar pair of cold hands slinks around your waist, and a chin rests on your shoulder. “Good morning, my sweet.” Astarion pecks your cheek, then peers over your shoulder. “Care to show me if we have anything planned for today?” He holds you closer, lowering his voice. “Because it has been six months, love.” 

You snap the datebook shut, trying to form words that wouldn’t immediately give away that you forgot that it was your anniversary. Your warm skin only makes Astarion’s touch all the more apparent, before he pulls away with a chuckle. “Relax, Tav. I’m sure anything you do will be fine.” He rinses the sleep from his eyes at the washbasin as you hurriedly get dressed. He smiles playfully, “That’s something to worry about once we’re married, and it’s grounds enough for divorce.”

“That’s if I agree to marry you in the first place!” You playfully stick your tongue out as you sling your satchel over her shoulder, but you don’t leave without giving Astarion a kiss. “I’m going to check for any happenings at the Elfsong. I’ve got a surprise when I get home before sundown, love. Happy anniversary!” You wave as the door slams shut, and he fondly waves back with a knowing smile before settling in with a book. Shit, he’s onto you.

The Lower City of Baldur’s Gate isn’t the most pristine of locales. Still, there was definitely an effort made with the number of floral arrangements hanging from balconies, merchant carts, and governmental buildings. You weave your way in and out of the streets and stalls, scanning for anything remotely romantic. You mutter to yourself, trying to keep your thoughts on track. “Alright. Flowers. They’re romantic, but not too outlandish. Roses are a good idea, but they don’t bloom until the summer. Tulips are a safe bet, I’m pretty sure.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a stall decorated with flowers and a tapestry of lace. The woman running it looks young, her blonde hair tied into two loose braids as her pastel blue dress fits her curves. She smiles at you fondly, beckoning you over to browse her wares.

As you step closer, you notice how the stall is decorated with signs indicating, ‘Best gifts for new couples!’ and, ‘Sale today!’ An assortment of flower bouquets, brassieres, and carved crystal animals is all on display, and your eyes don’t know which one to look at. “Greetings!” the woman chirps, then motions to the sale signs. “If you buy today, I’ll throw in a free bouquet!” The cheerful tulips stand behind her, but the assortment of lingerie catches your attention. They’re primarily in lighter colors and decorated with flowers, which doesn’t strike you as something you or Astarion would particularly fancy. 

But tucked behind them, a shine of crimson and gold catches your eye. You gently take out the garment and unfold it in front of you, revealing a form-fitting bodysuit adorned with white ruffles and red ribbons, with smooth black leather and gold buttons paneling the front. A pin holds a matching bunny-eared headband with ribbons and detached puff sleeves and cuffs in place, and you can’t deny the thrill that rushes through you as you imagine yourself in it, especially with a vision of revealing it to Astarion. 

“Oh, a perfect choice!” The woman pokes her head out from behind where you held the bodysuit up. “And enchanted, too! It’ll make you shack up just like rabbits, if you’re not careful enough.”

You turn the garment over, looking for a tag. There’s none to be found, but the rest of the lingerie is marked at around 60 GP. “That sounds great and all, but… how much does this all cost? With the flowers and everything.” You think about what you have in your coin pouch, as you didn’t expect to spend all that much on a gift. But this has more uses than flowers that will end up wilting, I suppose, you wonder.

“Oh! It’s 200 GP.” You try to hide your grimace at the price, as it was certainly out of budget. You check your coin purse to be sure, and you have 175 GP, as you remember your earnings from yesterday.

“Oh, I really wish I could, but—”

The woman looks at you closely before her eyes light up. “Hey! I saw a photo of you in Baldur’s Mouth Gazette! You’re one of those folks who saved the city a while back!”

You try to hush her, not wanting to attract a crowd. “Yeah, that was me. What about it?”

“You really saved my family back there! We didn’t have time to flee the city, and we all thought we would be done for. I’ll let you take the lingerie and the flowers as a special thanks.”

“You sure?” The woman nods, a smile on her face.

“Of course!” You drop the gold into her hand, and she pushes the gifts into your arms. “Enjoy your day!” she says louder than she needs to be, and you’re on your merry way as you complete your other errands. 

When you arrive home, you hear Astarion sharpening his daggers from the floor above. He’s preoccupied, perfect! You slink into the bathroom to try on the lingerie, carefully unfolding it from the bag. You hold it up to your form and look in the mirror, blushing the whole time, but you have a realization. Did I check the size? It seems the bodysuit is made for a slimmer figure, which you didn’t fully notice in the hustle and bustle of the city. You try to stretch the material to see if it fits your front, and you were correct: it was indeed too small. Shit, what do I do now? I spent so much gold on it, and I don’t want to risk tearing it…

A thought comes to you, and you devilishly grin into the mirror. I do know who it can fit, though! You quietly cast Mending, and the gift bag ties itself back up, ribbons forming as if it never opened. You gather it and the tulips in your arms, making your way upstairs.

You softly knock on the door of your study, greeted with a “come in, dear.” Astarion turns to you and puts his dagger down, his face softening from his focused state. “Well, hello, lover.” He reaches underneath the desk, presenting you with a wooden box adorned with a crest, clearly from one of the leatherworkers in town, but you don’t remember which one. You put your presents for Astarion down to examine the box to try and guess what’s inside, shaking it gently. He huffs, “Just open it, for gods’ sake!”

You open the box, revealing a smooth, leather belt, almost as dark as the night sky. Attached to it is a matching sheath with an extended leather portion, engraved with a rising sun surrounded by constellations. Your eyes light up, and you hug the scabbard close. “Oh, Astarion, you shouldn’t have!”

“I saw how beat up your current one is on our last quest,” he remarks. “You are the sun to my stars, after all. I figured a new one could be of use.” He kisses you on the cheek again and rubs his thumb over it, and you place the scabbard back into the box for safekeeping. He eyes the presents placed on the desk mischievously, then looks at you. “Is this why you were in such a rush this morning?” he teases.

“Shut your mouth!” you retort, and Astarion laughs. “Be grateful I didn’t get you a bouquet of allium flowers by mistake.” You carefully hand him the tulips, avoiding crushing the flowers. He breathes in the aroma, allowing in the memories of his brief time in the sun that he shared with you.

“Oh, these are beautiful! Thank you, Tav. I suppose we’ll have to find a vase of some sort, then.” You were still slowly building up your home essentials and decor, and you hadn’t checked a vase off your list yet. Astarion then picks up the gift bag, gingerly unwrapping it. 

Taking each piece out one by one, a blush rushes to his face, and his ears twitch as he unravels the corseted bodysuit. He stammers for a moment, trying to put words together.

“Astarion, if it’s an issue, I can return it. I mean, the flowers came with it, so—”

“No, Tav. It’s alright.” He inhales, but the blush remains on his face. “This is a pleasant surprise. It’s not very often that I have the chance to wear,” he motions to the lingerie on his lap. “All this for you.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “You’ll have to do the favor of telling me how I look, though.”

You smile, helping him get the lingerie in his arm as he gets off the desk and saunters to the bedroom. “Always for you, my love. Just call for me if you need any help!”

“Of course.” Astarion shuts the door, and you wait in the hallway, trying to suppress any intense arousal at the thought of your lover dressed like a sultry rabbit to the best of your ability. Your hand lingers on your waist, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you try to help yourself.

Finally, a voice from behind the door. “Tav, a moment, dear!” You open the door, and you quietly gasp at the sight in front of you. Astarion has his back toward you, his thighs and ass clad in silk and lattice tights. The bodysuit and accessories shine near the candlelight, all fitting to his porcelain-pale skin. The back laces, however, remain untightened. “Could you help me?” The red satin ribbons are a contrast against the scars on his back, a reminder of his past, but also of everything you overcame.

You slowly tighten it with your hands, working from the middle out. Once you have enough to hold onto, you look at your lover. “Brace your arms against the bed. I’m going to pull on the count of three.” Astarion nods, his elbows and arms firmly lying on the bed. “One… Two… Three!” You yank tightly on the ties of the corset, cinching his waist in and forming an hourglass shape.

And Astarion, the man you love, who you went through the hells and back for, moans. Not quietly or demure, but loud like there wasn’t anyone else in the world who could hear. He slaps his hand over his mouth in surprise, blush rising to the tips of his ears. “Gods, Tav. I never expected that to happen. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, no, it’s alright!” You laugh softly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. “No need to apologize.” You pause for a moment. “You know, the merchant did say that it has some, ahem, fertility enchantments.”

You can practically hear Astarion roll his eyes. “Oh, please. People are just trying to make quick gold. They’ll lie about whatever they can to sell overpriced items during festival seasons.” He looks at you over his shoulder. “Besides, if I didn’t shoot blanks due to the nature of being a vampire, you surely would have been carrying our child by now.”

“That is true.” You step back from Astarion, giving him some space.

Your lover takes that as his cue, turning around to show you the full display of his outfit. He poses, cocking his hips slightly. The ruffles and golden embroidery suit him naturally, and you feel your pupils widen as your gaze leads to where his pecs peek out from underneath the large red ribbon in the center. He notices, and with a smirk, he shakes his ass to make the puffy, white rabbit tail bounce. “At a loss for words, darling?”

You gulp, nodding your head. “Y-yeah. You look, uh, good. Really good.” He chuckles, and as you marvel at the rest of his body, you notice how his bulge presses against the leather panel. He’s harder than you anticipated he would be, clearly enjoying the thrill of being dressed up just for you. You feel your own wetness dampen your smallclothes, inner walls clenching as Astarion circles around you.

“How about you get more comfortable, my sweet?” You nod, more fervently than you realized, and begin to slip out of your pants and top. Astarion slows your hands, undoing each button one at a time as the smooth satin brushes against you. Your smallclothes and bra drop to the ground, leaving you exposed. “Much better, love.” He leads you to the bed, spreading your legs open as you sit on the edge. 

He kneels, kissing up your calves to your thighs and nipping along the way with his fang, but careful enough not to draw blood. You gasp and whine with each sensitive kiss as he nears closer and closer to your core. Finally, he licks a long stripe up your lower folds, causing a low moan to escape your lips. His lips move to suck on your clit, pressing your bundle of nerves in just the right way.

Your eyes had fluttered shut, putting your weight on your arms behind you. “Oh, Astarion!” After a series of whines, your eyes open once more. But the sight that greets you stops you in your tracks, and you can’t help but burst into laughter.

Astarion pulls back with confusion on his face, not knowing why everything was suddenly so hilarious. “Tav? What in the hells has gotten into you?”

You catch your breath between guffaws. “It’s— It’s—” You finally get control of yourself, inhaling. “The rabbit ears! You were on the floor, and from my perspective, it was kinda like,” you motion with your hands, making bunny ears with your fingers and dancing them above your mound.

Astarion blinks twice before breaking into laughter. He doesn’t take as long to recover as you do, but he cups your cheeks with his hands and kisses all over your face. “You cheeky little pet! I can’t believe that that’s what got you to break.” He looks at your beet-red face, chuckling one more time. “I can take them off, if that’ll help.”

“No, keep them on! They’re cute, you know.” You still Astarion’s hand before he takes the headband off. “Perhaps a change in position, instead.” You lie on your back and put your arms above your head, signaling for Astarion to get on top.

“Of course, my love.” When Astarion moves the crotch of the bodysuit so his cock can spring free, it’s already leaking, and his tip is a bright red. He bites his lip as he gives it a few strokes, lining it up against your folds. You softly moan in unison, and Astarion’s pointed nails caress your inner thighs and stomach. “Gods, you feel as wonderful as always, my love.”

As Astarion slowly eases into you, you let out a long moan as he kisses up your body, timing each peck with a shallow thrust. The sensation makes you quiver with pleasure, even more so when he latches onto your nipple and sucks. “Ah! Astarion, please,” you beg.

Astarion glances up at you, those ruby eyes full of wanton mirth. “I’m only just getting started, dear.” With that, he increases the pace of his movements, his hips meeting yours as he sucks and nips on your chest.

Your moans grow in volume, and your hand reaches for Astarion’s hair as a tether to reality. “Fuck, stop being a tease! I know you want to just as much as I do.”

“And that is?”

“Bite me, Astarion.” With a low laugh, your lover sinks his fangs into your breast, right above where your beating heart lie. The familiar icy feeling, which over time became a source of pleasure, courses through you. Your heart pounds as you feel your blood course into him, and before he attempts to drain you dry like when you first met, you pull him off by the nape of his neck. 

His mouth frees with a pop, the last rivulets of blood dripping down his chin. He laps up any remaining wet crimson from your breasts. “Delectable as always, my darling.” With his energy restored, he pistons in and out of you with more power than you anticipated. He puts your legs against his chest, gripping your thighs as he leaves little bloody kiss marks on them. “That’s right, Tav. Clench around me.”

You can’t restrain your cries any longer as your back arches in pleasure, your inner walls fluttering against his length. “Astarion! Fuck me, please!” You babble as you get lost in the pleasure, needing his cock to fill you to the brim.

“Come for me, my love.” As if his words were magic, the hard thrusts against your cervix push you over the edge. With a keen of his name, you reach your climax and clench around Astarion’s dick.

It’s enough for him, too, as he presses into you and fills you to the brim. As he softens, the two of you gaze into each other’s eyes and catch your breath. You reach up to kiss him before he pulls out, tenderly brushing his cheek with your thumb. He heads to the door, turning to you before he opens it. “I’ll be right back, darling. Let me just get some cloths so we can wash up.” A few minutes later, he returns as promised, helping to clean his spend out of you and gently washing the blood off with some soap. You do the same for him, and he chuckles as you clean the dried blood off his chin like a doting grandmother.

“I suppose I, ah, should get all of this off before we get into bed, love.” You agree, helping to loosen the corset laces as he takes each accessory off and gently places it to the side. Once the lingerie is folded and put away in the dresser, Astarion takes you into his arms under the blankets. “That was certainly a surprise. Thank you, Tav.”

You nuzzle into Astarion’s chest, holding him close. “You’re very welcome. Happy anniversary, dear.”

“Happy anniversary.” Astarion blows the candle out, and you doze off feeling loved.

 • • • • • •

You awake to the sound of inexperienced bards outside below, and you stumble out of bed. Astarion follows, disgruntled by the racket. “Gods, could they pick any other spot to perform in? If you could even call it a performance.”

“It’s Greengrass, my love.” You pick up your datebook and flip through the notes. “Huh, I just realized it’s been a while since my last moonblood. You don’t think I should see a cleric, do you?”

Before Astarion covers his ears with the pillows, he pauses for a moment. His eyes go wide. “Oh shit.”

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He pinched the bridge of his nose.

When had he become so useless?

Had he not been the lover of a goddess?

And now, now he was perplexed by a mortal? It had not even occurred to him on this most bizarre of journeys that he would be even remotely interested in anyone, yet here he was, watching her as she danced around the group, whilst everyone vied for her attention.

Serena had worn her hair down tonight; something he hadn’t seen yet. It had oddly caught him off guard having only seen her in the damaged armour she’d grabbed from the Nautiloid and being seemingly perpetually covered in blood. Of course, he’d seen she was beautiful from his first glance, he was nothing if not appreciative of finer things in life, but now she looked truly resplendent. Her glowing smile and the tiniest of flirtations she’d thrown his way, had left his already slightly broken knees even weaker.

He sipped more wine against his better judgement.

Serena seemed to be in deep conversation with the First Druid. Another admirer, he’d concluded.

He’d supposed, after hearing listening to the flirtations of the others, that she was quite the woman; naturally charismatic, fierce and unyielding but, most importantly in his eyes, kind. She’d jumped in to help this place without a second thought. She’d jumped in the fight with the goblins with no questions. She’d saved the tiefling child with not a murmur or need to recompense. She’d stood in front of a cross bow, arms folded and gaze unwavering, as if staring down death itself. Goodness was something he hadn’t been too privy to in Faerûn.

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you to dance?” Serena’s light tone swam through his mind and he had to shake his head to regain some sense. “I always imagined a learned wizard would be quite practised in a dance.”

The wine drifted through him logic once again. “I am practised in many things, but dancing is not one of them.”

She lifted an eyebrow, the look he’d worked out meant trouble for him. “Oh, do tell.”

His mouth dried but his conviction forced him to ignore it, along with the smirk on her lips. “As you are probably aware, a scholar of my nature, research is my main focus; there is nothing I enjoy more than curling up with a book in the study of a new topic.”

“So, attentive.”

“Most definitely. And let’s not forget, a wizard’s hands are his most valuable asset. Deliberate ministrations are most important in the accurate casting of spells, particularly at the level I was operating at.”

“Good with your hands.” Serena nodded. “Check.”

Confusion flooded him for the briefest of moments, until he watched her teeth drag across her lips.

“I imagine, wizards are also fairly proficient with their mouths. It would do no good to have a slovenly incantations along with those deliberate ministrations.” Serena sipped her wine, grinning as he moved from foot to foot.

“I, well, yes. I have been known to be talented in the art of verbosity.” Gale straightened his spine, regaining the shred of composure he had left, ignoring the swirling in chest. “I had no idea you had taken such an interest in the ways of The Weave.”

“Yes, The Weave, that’s what I am interested in.” She winked and laughed. “I shall leave you to your wine and your verbosity mighty Wizard.. However, if you do find yourself taking an interest in dancing, please consider me as tutor.” She curtseyed before twirling away towards the music.

“I would consider nobody else.” He called after her, trying to convince himself that the secret smile she threw him as she moseyed away was nothing more than a figment of a highly over-active imagination.