#maeva

‘You temptress.’ Astarion says dryly, as he watches her flick crumbs from the front of her top. 'You permanently taste of cinnamon, drowling. I'm sure you bathe in the stuff ' She grins at him. 'But you like it.’

'I do like it.’ Astarion grabs her waist and pulls her into him, burying his face into her neck again, growling and nipping, his little huffs of amusement as she tries to stop laughing making her laugh more as she tries to wriggle away. It’s almost ridiculous how happy she is and she tries to ignore the self-sabotaging voices that pop into her head telling her that this can't last. That someone like her can't possibly hold on to someone like him. Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off…I won’t listen to you.  Not the mantra Trip had in mind when he encouraged them to be more ‘zen.’ But it often did the trick.

'Much as I appreciate and enjoy your delicious blood, my love, if I partook of you as much as I'd like, it would be dangerous. So I'd rather keep you as the vintage.’ Astarion lowers his voice a couple of octaves and purrs into her ear, ‘for special occasions.’ A delicious tingle skips down Maeva’s spine, and she wriggles round to face him, planting a sloppy kiss on his lips before reluctantly pulling away. Despite this little distraction, something’s still bothering him and although Astarion often forgets unimportant details, blood supply is not one of them.