Saying “this niche, properly tagged, warned, and rated piece of fiction could theoretically hurt someone” is not a good argument. This properly labeled cookie with the allergen information at the bottom that contains gluten could theoretically harm me very badly, but only if I consume it. Tags are like nutrition labels, and warnings are like allergy information. If you know you have an allergy to something, the logic is to stay away from it. It is the same with fiction. I’m not running through stores yelling at people to take all the products with gluten off the shelves just because it could hurt me. Instead I ignore it and go to the gluten free section and find cookies that are right for me. And if running through a grocery store yelling sounds ridiculous, that’s because it is. Stop doing the same with fiction.
And just like with food, what might be harmful for one person to consume could be quite *beneficial* for others. One man’s trigger is another man’s catharsis.
AND if you lack the maturity/self control/awareness to stop yourself from eating things that could potentially harm you, you either 1) are too young to be making your own food choices and should be supervised by a parent/other adult who is supposed to be responsible for you (and the store clerk who put the food on the shelf is NOT) or 2) need to take accountability for your own actions, because if you deliberately consumed something you knew could hurt you as a fully autonomous adult, then you really have no one to blame but yourself.
I’d like to add that within AO3, “Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings” is, in this food analogy, like the food labels that read “This product was manufactured in a facility where [potential food allergens] are used in the production of some products”. It’s not telling you they’re in there, but even more importantly, it’s not telling you they’re not. This is not the same as “No Archive Warnings Apply” which would be the certified [food allergen] free food. One guarantees a certain experience, the other has given you no promises as to what may or may not be included and is very much a consume-at-your-own-risk product.
grabbing the ao3 authors by their plump rosy little cheeks… being sexually submissive… does not make a person literally anything. not more or less powerful, or more or less competent, or more or less gendered, or more or less capable of abuse, or more or less innocent, or more or less mature, or more or less adult, or more or less violent, or more or less intelligent, or more or less responsible, or more or less any single thing on the planet. there is no correlation. please. please. for the love of god.
Whoever made this specific ad is going to be tortured by a thousand demons in hell. Avatar of the lonely type piece of shit i hope they push away all their loved ones in favour of ai and no one goes to their funeral. I want to rip their face off like a chimp
If your friends get annoyed at you for texting them to the point where you'd rather talk to a fucking water guzzling oversized autocorrect you need better friends
Another one of their ads 👇 hey are you struggling with things in your interpersonal life? Don't worry :) friendly corperation has you covered :)) ai can be all the friend you need :))) friendly corperation very trustworthy
Yeah this is incredibly fucked up and it's also an opportune time to remind everyone that instant replies are an insane, unprecedented expectation that humanity has never before experienced in our entire history as a species. As a person who enjoys my alone time and doesn't check my phone more than three or four times a day, not replying within minutes doesn't mean that someone loves you or cares about you any less.
Loneliness sucks but the onus doesn't fall entirely on your friends and loved ones to fix that for you. Imo we all need to work on being comfortable alone. We all need to accept that not every single thought and experience needs to be shared and reacted to. We all need to accept that being cut off from our community for a few hours at a time is normal, and can even be a source of peace and comfort if you let it.
This isn't a "nobody owes you a reply" post, it's a "expecting instant slot-machine gratification from everyone no matter the circumstance is actually pretty dehumanizing and strange, but if you take initiative and actively work on it your mental health will improve exponentially" post
The other night husband and I were watching a documentary about the yeti where they were doing DNA analysis of samples of supposed yeti fur, and every one of them came back as bears.
Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.
So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.
Bears. They’re everywhere. Be wary. Anyone or anything could be a bear.
As the OP of this post, I’m going to threaten that if this gets to one million notes by the 10 year anniversary on 1 June 2026, one year from today, I will get a lower back tattoo of the loch ness bear monster.
You ever go "I know exactly what I'm in the mood to read" so you go to read it but get to the end and go "aw I wish there was more this isn't finished" only the reason there isn't more is because you haven't written it yet
Yes I read my own fics but it's because I wrote my daydreams down so they're often what I'm in the mood to daydream about, okay
Long answer: life busy, work busy, brain currently vibrating about Red, White & Royal Blue. Which means still no Halsin posting from me again just yet, but - RWRB has given me some drive to create again, so it may not be long! (I've learned that I've just got to surf the waves of hyperfixation as they come, and be what it may).
RWRB posting will be happening over on @barksilvered as some stuff is likely to get flagged.
So I debated not saying anything, but I've been absent longer than I planned, and everyone here is so kind, so I thought I may as well give you guys a heads up why I'm not around.
My dog died. And to say I'm taking it hard is an understatement. It was a tragic, rare and sudden health issue that took him from happy & healthy to critical basically overnight. He was still very young, and we'd had him hardly any time at all, and so the shock and injustice of it is just really hard to handle.
I'll be back. I adore you all, and our main bear man, and that's not changing.
Brb spamming Halsin hugs away from my dash for a lil while.
Summary: Through no fault of his own, Halsin had been distracting Astarion - constantly invading his thoughts and just being annoyingly nice. Not only that, Astarion seemed to have bad luck while Halsin was around. Halsin always showed up at just the right moment to help him out, regardless of whether or not he needed it.
While searching for his missing dagger after a fight with some Stone Lord thugs, Astarion finds himself in trouble again and guess who is there to help him out?
Relationships: Astarion x Halsin
Rating: Teen (for some mild violence and blood)
Word Count: 4.4k
Tags: Fluff, humor, a little kissing, Halsin is a little bit sassy. Written for @silveredbark
Astarion’s heel dug into the sand as he yanked one of his daggers from the still-warm corpse of a dragonborn. The dragonborn, along with several other of his now deceased cronies, were in league with the Absolute. Well, technically someone called The Stone Lord, but that distinction didn’t matter much to him. From what Astarion had gathered from the heated argument he had overheard between the dragonborn and a Duergar Guild member, it was pretty much the same thing.
If the Stone Lord served the Absolute, and even the Guild was pushing back against them, then it made it all too easy for Tav to pick a side.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, or however the saying went.
Besides, it was always a good idea to have friends in the Guild. Those bastards had their finger on every pulse point in the city — if Tav needed information, the Guild would likely have it and then some. For a fee, of course.
Seagulls cawed over Astarion’s head as they swooped past, returning to the beach one by one now that the fighting was over. The susurration of waves and the setting sun calmed the adrenaline that coursed through his veins. He had never spent much time at the beach in Baldur’s Gate; the icy sand and blackened waters under the cover of night had never appealed to him. But beneath the sunlight? It was actually quite lovely.
That was, of course, if one could ignore at least a dozen bodies strewn about.
Using the dragonborn’s shirt as a rag, Astarion wiped the blood from his dagger before he returned it to its sheath. He still had one more of his daggers to find somewhere between the bodies and the sand. Normally the sussur dagger stood out when he threw it, but apparently the beach provided perfect camouflage. While it wasn’t the end of the world if he had truly lost it, it would be disappointing.
Plus, Tav would never let him hear the end of it. That sussur bark had been a pain to harvest and that dagger had served Astarion quite well throughout their journey. He had actually become quite attached to it.
“Gotta say, I’m glad you guys showed up when you did,” the Duergar woman they had fought alongside said, a smile in her voice as she addressed Jaheira and Tav. “Stone Lord pricks might’ve taken out my crew if it wasn’t for you. I think the gnome pissed himself when Big Boy over there turned into a damn saber-tooth.”
From the corner of his eye, Astarion saw the Duergar nod toward where Halsin lounged wildshape. Blood of their foes soaked the fur around his muzzle still as he panted beneath the heat of the sun. It wasn’t uncommon for Halsin to linger in wildshape for a bit after a fight. There had been too many instances where they had thought the fighting was over only to be ambushed by someone hiding in the shadows a moment later. Though it only took Halsin a moment to don on the fur of a beast like Astarion would a cloak, it took significantly more energy.
Lately, Astarion preferred it when Halsin was in wildshape. For one, he couldn’t talk. Secondly, ‘Halsin, the Beast’ was far less distracting than ‘Halsin, the Man.’
If he was being completely honest with himself, Astarion wasn’t quite sure what to make of Halsin. He seemed like a good man. A genuinely good man, which was a rarity in Astarion’s experience. Part of him didn’t want to trust Halsin for that reason alone: no one was as kind and generous as he was without some ulterior motive.
Yet after weeks of traveling together, Astarion couldn’t for the life of him figure out what that ulterior motive could be. Halsin didn’t have to continue traveling with them — he didn’t have a tadpole and he had aided them more than most anyone else on their travels. If he decided that he had done his part, no one would hold it against him. There was so much work to be done to undo the effects of the Shadow Curse, but Halsin had put that aside in favor of continuing to aid them.
“Astarion,” Jaheira called from across the beach, pulling him from his thoughts. “We think that ship came from Moonrise. We’re going to take a look around for more information and try to figure out what they were up to. You’re welcome to join us if you’re done searching for seashells.”
Astarion nudged the corpse of a halfling man with his booted foot, spotting a hint of something silver beneath him. Unfortunately, it had only been part of the man’s belt.
Damn, where the hells had the sussur dagger gone? Surely his aim hadn’t been that terrible.
“You go ahead,” he replied distractedly. “I’ll catch up once I’ve found wherever my dagger lodged itself.”
“Check that alcove where some of them were hiding,” Tav suggested and nodded toward the cliff face that loomed over the small stretch of sand. “I think I saw something ricochet in that direction.”
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Astarion said, as if Tav should have known what he was looking for even though he had never verbalized it. “Do you enjoy watching me walking around looking like an idiot?”
Instead of taking the opportunity to sass him back, Tav simply shrugged and gave him a shit-eating grin before taking off after Jaheira.
Halsin, on the other hand, didn’t budge from his sunny spot in the sand except to watch their companions follow the Duergar toward the creepy ship. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in whatever the boat had to offer, which struck Astarion as odd. Normally, Halsin was the type to jump on any opportunity to investigate everything and anything involving the cult of the Absolute.
Once their companions disappeared from view, Halsin tilted his head toward him, his expression unreadable behind his wildshape. Astarion stared back with a furrow to his brow. What the hells was Halsin doing? Was he just going to—
Oh.
Halsin was babysitting him.
Astarion rolled his eyes at the realization and tried to ignore the fluttering sensation in his stomach. Deep down, he appreciated the gesture. Very, very deep down. Though Astarion wasn’t sure if Halsin’s watchful eye came from a place of genuine care or from the fact Astarion had a tendency to get himself into trouble.
Trouble that, without anyone’s help — especially not Halsin’s — he was perfectly capable of getting himself out of, thank you very much.
But as much as he hated to admit it, Halsin was directly responsible for saving his ass more than once.
Maybe twice.
Actually, it was closer to a dozen times, but Astarion didn’t want to think about that. He just happened to have quite a bit of bad luck when Halsin was around. That was all.
Astarion groaned as he kicked away some sand covering something shiny, hoping to spot his dagger buried beneath.
Seashell. Dammit.
“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” he called across the beach.
Halsin‘s ears twitched toward the sound of his voice, then he tilted his head and raised one furry eyebrow as if to say ‘Really?’
Astarion threw up his hands. Fine. If the druid wanted to watch him, he could go ahead and watch the breathtaking performance of The Idiot Who Lost His Irreplaceable Dagger.
It was sure to be thrilling.
The bastard could help, but no. It seemed like he was perfectly content to stay exactly where he was.
Making his way to the alcove Tav had mentioned, Astarion checked the bodies of a tiefling man and a gnomish woman as he went with no sign of the sussur dagger. It wasn’t until he got close to the mouth of the alcove that he spotted a glint of blue on the ground where the sand met sandstone.
“There you are,” Astarion muttered as he retrieved his dagger. It was a little scratched up, but it seemed otherwise undamaged.
Relieved, he tucked the dagger into his belt where it was easiest to grab if he needed it. Not that he thought he would need it again today, but one could never know.
Astarion glanced at a narrow opening toward the back of the alcove. Though he couldn’t see far into it, he noticed a few dots of lantern light lining the walls and casting a dim glow in a yawning cavern, stuffed with crates and boxes and makeshift furniture. So that explained why those thugs were hanging out of the beach — they had a whole hideout back there.
Amidst all of the fighting, he vaguely recalled the supposed leader of the group shouting for additional backup, only to be told by one of the thugs that all of their crew was already on the beach.
Which meant that, if they had any valuables tucked away in that hideout, they were completely unguarded. Maybe some gold, jewelry, and — judging by the creepy boat — even secrets directly from Moonrise Towers. All of it prime for the taking.
Or they could just have drugs and a couple of cheap bottles of wine. It really could go either way with those sorts.
In any case, they always needed more supplies. And gold. Especially now they were practically in the city and they had significantly more, and better, shopping options than when they were on the road.
Gods, what he wouldn’t give for some new clothes and a nicer pair of boots. The kind of garments that Cazador would let him wear, but never let him own. It had been decades since he had gotten new clothes he could call his own, but Astarion had done plenty of window shopping. He knew exactly where he was going to go with some gold to spend.
Perhaps Halsin could get something too. Something that wouldn’t make him stand out so much in the city. Between his stature, his druidic attire, and that sometimes blank and mildly confused look on his face, the man was a prime target for the numerous criminals crawling around the city. Halsin could certainly handle himself, but Astarion would much rather Halsin avoided advertising his newcomer status.
For everyone’s convenience, of course. Not because Astarion worried for him or something ridiculous like that.
Hells, maybe if he was lucky, he might find some clothes in the hideout. He didn’t have high expectations as to the quality of those clothes, but perhaps there could be a hidden gem or two. They had certainly found plenty of treasures in unlikely places on their travels.
Astarion ducked into the hideout, his eyes quickly adjusting to the much dimmer lighting of the cave. Well, once he was inside, he realized it was more of a tunnel than a cave — it let out into the ocean not fifty meters away. A few empty rowboats, tied to a shoddy, rotting dock, rocked in the gentle current far beyond where the sunlight could reach.
Beside the rowboats and a couple of crabs skittering along the shoreline, the place was as abandoned as Astarion expected. A half eaten sandwich laid atop of a barrel alongside an empty tin mug, lantern light still illuminating a newspaper some anonymous thug must have been reading before being called into their last battle.
Their own fault, really. If they valued their hides, the rowboats were right there. They could have turned the other way instead of throwing away their pitiful lives in the name of the Boulder Boss or whatever he was called. The Stone Lord. Something to do with rocks.
Oh well, it wasn’t his problem.
His boots were nearly silent against the sand covered floor as he ventured deeper into the hideout, his head on a swivel and his hand on his dagger just in case anyone had been left behind. Besides the sound of water and the echoes of the cave, Astarion couldn’t hear anything that would point to any signs of life (if one did not count the crabs). No voices, no breathing, no movement besides his own.
Tucked in a narrow offshoot, well out of sight of either of the entrances Astarion could see, he found exactly what he was hoping for: gold.
And plenty of it.
Crates and crates overflowing with gold, gems, weapons, and all sorts of shiny things. Also some barrels full of illithid tadpoles and metal boxes of what looked like infernal metal. Tav had made the right call by siding with the Guild, Astarion noted dully. Whoever these people were were obviously not the type to help their cause.
But Astarion was certainly the type to help himself.
Astarion completely intended to inform Tav of the hidden trove, but only after he snuck a few coins and pawnable goods for himself before it went into the general camp supplies. Not that Astarion typically minded the system Tav had worked out to make sure everyone got their fair share of the spoils, he just wanted a little extra that was just for him for something frivolous.
Call it a finders fee.
His eyes landed on a small wooden chest, already opened, a pile of gold coins and shiny gemstones beckoning him. The mound of treasure divoted in the center as if someone had been sifting through the riches. Astarion scooped up a handful of the coins and let them fall through his fingers. The weight and the texture of the metal seemed authentic, and—
“It’s mine!”
Astarion’s feet lifted off the ground and his back slammed against the cave wall, a sharp pain running down his side. A gaunt, jaundiced man with browned teeth and bloodshot eyes glared at him as his boney fingers dug into Astarion’s neck with enough force to strangle a man who actually needed to breathe.
A yelp of pain and some choice words for the gentlemen gathered in his throat came out as gurgling groan, unable to escape the man’s ironlike grip. Astarion blindly reached for his dagger, panic and surprise and pain making his normally deft hands clumsy.
“Not gonna share,” the man snarled, his voice like a creaking graveyard gate and his breath like a crypt. “Not gonna—”
Astarion plunged the dagger into the man’s back without a shred of mercy. Bastard forfeited his life the moment he attacked.
The man jerked away with a snarl of pain, yanking the dagger out of Astarion’s grip with the movement, leaving it lodged in his flesh. Those boney hands tightened their grip around his throat, and he pulled Astarion away from the wall just long enough to slam him against it again.
Blackness colored his vision when the back of his head collided with the stone. A cold sweat broke across his skin as he struggled, his feet slipping on the sand-covered ground and his hands unable to find anything else to use as a weapon.
Fuck. It was only a matter of time before the bastard realized that strangling a vampire wouldn’t kill one and he resorted to something else.
Astarion dug his nails into the man’s wrists until blood wetted his fingertips, desperately prying and pulling with no avail. The man was unnaturally strong. Stronger than any man who looked so sickly had any right to be.
Frantic, Astarion’s eyes darted around looking for something he could use.
Anything he could use.
Come on, think! An all too familiar feeling of helplessness flooded into his mind, telling him to simply stop fighting. Stop fighting because he would only make things worse for himself, and the severity of Cazador’s punishment would increase tenfold.
Astarion shoved the thought from his racing mind. This wasn’t Cazador, and he wasn’t helpless. But fuck, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have—
A screeching roar cut the air like a knife through parchment. The hands around his throat ripped away in a flash of brown and white fur, Astarion’s body following like a ragdoll from the sheer force of the moment. The sharp pain in his side screamed as he landed among the pile of treasure and he instinctively took a gulp of air he didn’t need.
Disoriented and trying to ignore the pain, he scrambled backwards to locate his opponent.
Then he heard the distinct crunch of bone, and Astarion’s head whipped toward the sound just in time to see the man’s body go limp in the jaws of a saber toothed cat.
Of course it was Halsin.
Astarion slumped back against the gold and closed his eyes. Part of him was relieved. Thankful for the timely rescue.
Another part of him was very, very, annoyed.
“Astarion,” Halsin said, his voice a mixture of concern and relief, as he practically skidded to a stop beside him, tufts of fur trailing behind him from dismissing his wildshape. Golden healing magic gathered around Halsin’s fingertips as his eyes darted over Astarion’s form — from his torso, to his hip, to his neck, to his face, then back to his hip.
Halsin lowered his hands to the spot on Astarion’s hip with a grimace that no one ever wanted to see from a healer, “Don’t look.”
Astarion looked.
Nausea churned in his stomach at a strip of white between the bloodied, torn, flesh of his hip. Good gods. Astarion vaguely remembered the sharp pain in his side before the man had tried to choke him out, but he wasn’t expecting that.
“I’m going to be sick,” he croaked, the damage to his throat making it difficult to talk.
“I told you not to look,” Halsin replied, his hands steady over Astarion’s hip as his magic soaked into him, soothing as a warm bath. “If it’s any reassurance, it looks nastier than it actually is.”
Astarion wasn’t sure if that was true, or if Halsin was attempting to assuage his discomfort. The thought made him scoff. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
Cazador had done far, far more damage to him than anything on their adventures with Tav. Getting attacked by a strange man in a cave was barely worth a footnote in the pages upon pages of horrors Astarion had endured over the centuries.
But with Cazador, Astarion never had a stupidly kind druid ready to patch him up.
“I’m sure you have,” Halsin replied, the sound of sympathy still so unfamiliar that it felt almost mocking. Astarion knew that wasn’t the case, yet he clenched his teeth. “Now stop talking while I take care of your neck.”
Begrudgingly, Astarion kept his mouth shut as Halsin’s hands hover over his bruised throat. Despite how his adrenaline-fueled mind screamed at him not to let anyone near his neck, he managed to himself calm.
Halsin wasn’t going to hurt him.
Somehow, deep in his gut, Astarion knew that to be true.
“Never thought I would say this,” Halsin commented as his rough fingertips brushed over Astarion’s neck with a featherlight touch, the healing magic seeping through Astarion’s skin and soothing his pain. “But you’re extremely lucky you’re a vampire. Had this happened to anyone else…. Well, I would have had to prepare something more complex than a simple healing spell.”
Though a sarcastic reply danced on the tip of his tongue, Astarion only hummed in response since he wasn’t supposed to talk. He probably wasn’t supposed to hum either, considering how the small vibration aggravated his throat.
Oh well. Like he had said before: Cazador had inflicted worse on him. Comparatively speaking, he might as well have just stubbed his toe.
Halsin’s hands carefully moved to the sides of Astarion’s neck, just below his jawbone, his hazel eyes warm but focused as he worked. Astarion swallowed and averted his gaze.
It wasn’t until that moment that he realized how intimate their position was — Astarion on his back with Halsin kneeling over him. Though Halsin was politely seated to his side, Astarion couldn’t help but imagine if the situation was slightly different. He quickly pushed the thought aside. Now was not the time to imagine being straddled by a handsome, caring, druid.
Halsin’s gentle touch tickled the nape of his neck. “Lift your head.”
Trying to ignore the sudden wave of goosebumps across his skin, Astarion did as he was told. Though he could already guess at the answer by the way his throat felt, he asked, “Does this mean I can talk now?”
“You may,” Halsin replied as his fingers slipped through Astarion’s hair, the healing magic now focused on the spot on the back of his head where he had been slammed against the wall. Then, Halsin’s throat bobbed and he turned his eyes towards the pile of treasure. “But I don’t encourage it.”
“Why not? My throat feels fine now, thanks to your magic druid nonsense or whatever spell you’re using.”
Halsin shook his head. “Because you can be quite distracting.”
Something in the way Halsin spoke stirred up over-eager butterflies in Astarion’s stomach. Though it was entirely possible that Halsin was being very literal and simply didn’t want to be distracted while he worked, Astarion couldn’t help but feel like there was another meaning behind his words.
What if Halsin was distracted by Astarion the same way Astarion was distracted by him? What if….
“In a good way or a bad way?” Astarion asked before he could get ahead of himself.
“Both,” he replied, a hint of playfulness in his voice and undeniable warmth and affection in his gaze. “But if it’s any consolation, you’re mostly the good kind of distracting.”
Astarion’s stomach did a moronic little flip, and he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “So would something like this be the good kind of distracting or the bad kind of distracting?” he asked as he lifted his hand to the back of Halsin’s head, the warmth making him want to bury his fingers in his long hair.
“The bad kind,” Halsin said as his hand moved to a tender spot on the back of his skull that he didn’t even realize he had. “At least, it is for the next ten seconds. But after I’m done healing…”
The glowing golden magic that spiraled from Halsin’s thick arms to his skillful fingers dissipated, leaving them in the dim light from a single lantern hanging from the wall. His eyes locked onto Astarion’s, his expression softening as they watched one another, both of them waiting for someone to see what the other would do next. Neither one of them wanting to make the first move.
Perhaps, Astarion thought, it would be for the best if they both just decided to leave things as they were. Astarion would thank Halsin, Halsin would tell him to be more careful, then they’d go and tell Tav and Jaheira about the cave and all of the loot that was inside.
The moment would be dead and buried, and maybe that was how it should be. After all, what did someone like Astarion have to offer a man like Halsin?
Nothing. That was what.
But when Halsin’s eyes dropped to Astarion’s lips, the hesitation and doubt tying back his desires — what he wanted — unraveled. Damn, maybe it was impulsive, or maybe he was reading too much into the situation. After all, he did just get knocked around pretty hard, and yet…
What the hells.
Astarion’s fingers traced Haslin’s pointed ear as he slid his hand through silky brown hair. “May I distract you now?” he asked, lifting his face close enough to Halsin's that he could feel his breath against his lips.
Halsin chuckled warmly. “I hope you will,” he said as he leaned in, his lips brushing against Astarion’s with a soft, light kiss. The kind of kiss that was so foreign to him that it made it feel like his chest was about to bust with…. Oh, Astarion didn’t know. Something warm and fuzzy that he never thought he would feel again.
“But,” Halsin said as he drew back, his gaze dark with desire but unmistakably happy, “we should get back to the beach before the others start wondering where we went.”
”They can wait a few minutes.” Before Halsin could put any distance between them, Astarion captured the other man’s mouth with his. His hands tangled in Halsin’s hair as he deepened the kiss, nipping gently at his lower lip as he clung to him like he was afraid he was going to change his mind.
The tip of Halsin’s tongue brushed against his, sending a shiver down his spine. Damn it — Astarion didn’t even know if this meant anything to Halsin but he wanted it to. He wanted to be more than just a bit of fun for him. Though he knew Halsin didn’t hold himself back when it came to his most carnal desires, Astarion also believed Halsin wasn’t the type to be careless with another’s heart.
Halsin groaned and pulled Astarion closer, inhaling deeply like he was breathing in his scent, and—
“Footprints lead this way.” Jaheira’s voice cut through the growing haze of lust like a light in the dark.
“They couldn’t stay put for ten minutes?” Tav said, sounding more annoyed than concerned. “Astarion, I expect to wander off, but Halsin?”
“I’ll bet you a gold piece that Astarion probably did something stupid again,” Jaheira replied.
“Yeah, I’m not taking that bet.”
Halsin’s lips drew into a thin line as if he was trying to hold back a laugh. “If they ask,” he said, offering Astarion a hand as he got to his feet, “we had to go after a straggler.”
Astarion scoffed as he accepted Halsin’s hand, gold coins clinking beneath him as he stood. “Isn’t that what happened? I mean, we did take care of that brown-toothed menace over there.” He cocked his thumb towards the corpse that he had honestly forgotten about until that moment.
“Exactly,” Halsin replied. “I’m just going to leave out the part where you wandered in here by yourself without telling anyone.”
The lingering tingle on his lips from Halsin’s kiss did not stop Astarion from rolling his eyes. “Oh, you are so kind.”
“I’m detecting some sarcasm,” Halsin said with a chuckle. “Come on. Let’s get back to the others. Perhaps I can distract you later.”
Judging by the look in Halsin’s eyes and the fluttering feeling in his own stomach, Astarion had no doubts about that.
Only a few steps from the entrance to the cave, Astarion gave a frustrated groan. He turned sharply on his heel and began to trudge back in.
“Where are you going?” Halsin asked.
Astarion didn’t even want to look at Halsin as he answered, “I forgot my damn dagger.”
---
Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated!
