Ace Tav x Astarion - Change of Plans (Tiefling Party pt. 3)
Hiya folks!
It’s been a while since I made one of these. It’s a mix of being busy and not finding the motivation to do one of these fully and honestly. But, I always wanted to draw Astarion’s reaction to Dom’s asexuality. He’d be angry but thankfully, Dom is stupid so he just had to change his plans.
Soft and gentle tags to share your indulgent pics or snippets for @missfortunetherogue, @lucretiouswept, @lilhumanoid, @litsenn, @lottavilja, @chaushaus and @riddlerosehearts.
Below the cut, a little preview from another collab project of @lottavilja and me. Mas is Zhah in an AU where he was never turned into a drider.
Dividers by @diviniyae.
Opening one eye, Mas dared to peek at Imrae from the side.
A handsome profile with a regal, prominent nose. Rosy lips. Long slim ears.
Many fellows at the taverns claimed that a nice long ears on elven gents were a sign for a-
Ahem.
He was getting ahead of himself.
And besides, Imrae looked... forlorn, somehow. Lost in thought. He was gripping one hand with the other, squeezing it tight.
Was he nervous?
Was it something Mas had said or done?
“Are you alright, Imrae?” he asked, aiming for a gentle, casual tone.
“Hm? Oh. Yes. My apologies.” Imrae smiled, but his nervosity did not vanish, and his next words made clear why. “I think I have to tell you something about myself before you decide to spend more of your life's time on me.”
Mas' heart started beating faster.
Was he already promised to someone or, gods beware, married?
Regardless of what Imrae was about to confess, at least he was doing it before anything had been said and done.
“I... am odd, Mas. I am not a very fiery being. My blood does not run hot with desire as it does in most.”
Mas blinked. That was a new one.
He had met celibate people. He had met impotent people. But this was neither, from how Imrae had phrased it, nor was he finished, so Mas gave him a nod to show that he was listening.
“In addition, I am not terribly experienced when it comes to relationships.” Imrae let out a nervous chuckle. “Correct me if I am mistaken, but I have the feeling that you are looking for lasting companionship.”
There was genuine, heartbreaking unease in his eyes, but also relief of having said it all out loud.
“Thank you. For trusting me with this,” Mas said, brushing Imrae's hand while he processed what he had just heard.
He studied his fellow drow for a few moments.
While anxious, Imrae did not seem in any way unsure about his preferences, or the the lack-there-of in his case, just as Mas was certain that he had no interest in the intimate company of women.
And Imrae was not mistaken, he had imagined how living together might be like. Trancing in the mage's embrace. Eating breakfast between the roses of Mas' rooftop garden. Daily walks through the city together. Awaiting Imrae's return like a sailor's spouse when he was away on his travels.
But imagination only brought one that far.
“So you are disinterested in physical love?” Mas asked in a gentle fashion, and prayed that it did not sound judgmental to Imrae.
“I engage in it, now and again. But I do not know if I could be a good match for somebody who puts great value in... physical love as part of relationship.”
“You know, before I came to the surface, I would have counted myself as such, but physical was the only semblance of love that was to be had in Menzoberranzan.” Mas drew his fingers through his long ponytail. “'Trust is foolish' and all of that nonsense. I calmed down a lot since I fled to the surface.”
He took a deep breath and smiled. “What I am trying to say is that I would love to see where this goes.”
“The same. And my apologies. I fear such a curt discussion is not exactly what the poets write about.”
“On the contrary. Honesty is much more romantic than you think. And it is certainly refreshing.”
Of course I only learned it's ace week by an accident x) And felt kinda sad because I had nothing to share or to celebrate with. But then I remembered I had posted a microfic to AO3 almost a month ago, and never reposted it here because, well, I wasn't doing great back then. It's about aroace pining of sorts, so I think now is a good time to amend my tardiness, hah.
Huge thanks to @elceewunjo and @rivereverie who noticed the fic even when I was kind of trying to not get noticed. I reread your comments today and might have even cried a little (you won't get me to admit to anything though, haha). I changed the ending a bit, would love to know your opinions.
Anyway, all the love and support to all ace people out there, no matter what type of ace you are – you're valid, precious, and deserve the world 🖤🩶🤍💜
Read the fic under the cut.
A Heavy and Clawed Feeling
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Category: Other
Relationship: Astarion & Tav*
Additional tags: Angst, Pining, (but in aroace), Emotional Hurt, Named Tav, Autistic Tav, Yae of Evereska (OC), Nebularomantism, Aromantism, Asexuality, Platonic Limerence, Character Study, Relationship Study, Late Act 2, (probably), Yae's POV, Self-Esteem Issues, Astarion (more as a subject than a character), Shadowheart (minor character), Lae'zel (minor character)
Words: 744
AO3 version here
Yae looked across the fire at Astarion, watching how the golden-orange light tinted the vampire’s skin, so it almost seemed healthy and alive; how it gleamed on the oh-so-carefully combed swirls; how it darkened the already dark circles under his eyes. The pale elf sat with legs gracefully crossed, sneering and making exaggerated faces at Minthara, who smirked right back at him with practised condescendence.
I bet he’s being a jerk, Yae thought, and just thinking it brought him warmth. During the early days of the adventure, he had often called Astarion obnoxious, and the vampire had repaid him with the same coin. Yae upheld his old opinion, but now he also viewed Astarion as…
Obnoxious, but in a good way, he decided after careful consideration, and this time almost snickered out loud at his own silliness. Thankfully, no one noticed. Lae’zel and Shadowheart, seated next to him, seemed to bicker again over one trifle matter or another – Yae preferred not to ask what the hotly contested topic was today.
His good mood dissolved ever so easily, all too quickly, just as always; and something heavy and clawed crept back in, nestling itself just below his heart, in the place that belonged to it by the law of adverse possession.
He had recently caught himself thinking about Astarion more, and it troubled him. Was it normal to be so absorbed with a person? Others would probably say he–
“Shadowheart, if you swallowed a butterfly, and it somehow survived, the flutter of its wings against your tube would make you gag.”
“It’s not–” The cleric almost spit her wine out, giggling. “Gods, Lae’zel, you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? I told you it’s a figure of speech, you’re not supposed to take it literally.”
In response, the githyanki literally rolled her eyes.
“Then tell me this: have you ever had the sensation of winged insects in your digestive tract?” she asked in a cheeky hissing voice that made it clear just how deliberately she chose her words.
“Well, I– You know I don’t remember.” Shadowheart pursed her burgundy-stained lips. “Surely I have! It’s a common experience.”
A common experience, huh?
Yae tried to recall if he had ever felt butterflies in his stomach. No jealous goddess had sealed his memories, and yet, the man’s answer was the same as Shadowheart’s: surely he had? Everybody said it was a common experience.
But that wasn’t why he kept thinking about Astarion. Or maybe? Where lied the difference between lovers and friends? In the desire to have sex? To marry and raise children? Yae shook his head, and the ashen brown bangs obscured the view of the rogue quipping energetically at Minthara, like a courtain going down to signal the end of a show.
No, it wasn’t it. It probably wasn’t it. It certainly wasn’t it.
The feeling that grew within as he pondered the matter definitely didn’t resemble pleasant tingling. It tore through the lower part of his chest with a dull stabbing sensation, one that made his stomach twist and ache in a very familiar way.
Oh, right. Anxiety. The realisation that he had almost mistaken it for something else, something poetic and sublime, nearly drew a hysterical chuckle out of the warlock.
Yae thought about the things he didn’t want and didn’t feel and didn’t understand. He’d be content to just, well, spend time with Astarion, to talk, or better yet, to sit in silence, or to read something. It was nice having the snarky man always near, to watch him flip his daggers or to explain to him the difference between stalactites, stalagmites and stalagnates – but…
Lae’zel and Shadowheart were already arguing about something else entirely, and there were footsteps circling the fire.
But surely Astarion, once he recovered a little and found his own firm footing, would want more than those silly pastimes. He’d want things Yae wouldn’t know how to give.
And then, naturally, the vampire would move on, to forge a new life he finally dared to dream of, with all the beautiful and smart people he deserved, because he was beautiful and smart himself. And Yae, who at this very moment didn’t even dare to lift his head or brush his hair away, would stay as he had always been and think that maybe it’s better that way.
The dirt crunched, but the mind stayed too focused on the sensation of the nails digging into the scalp.
* It's actually evolving into a queerplatonic relationship, but sadly, there's no appropriate tag on AO3.
Astarion who tries all the normal methods of seducing Tav being absolutely flabbergasted when they turn down his offer to share his bed.
Astarion who hears for what's probably the first time in 200 years, "I don't want you for your body, I like the person underneath,"
Astarion who finally gets friendly, non-sexual touches like a head pat, resting their head on his shoulder, holding his hand, tousling his hair (to the best of their ability), hugging him.
Astarion who finally rather than putting on a show, gets to spend his nights just resting with someone who cares.
Astarion who knows that this person isn't in it for the physical part, and that without his efforts, this person would still risk everything to save him.
Someone sent an ask once about how a Tav could have a successful Asexual (sex repulsed) relationship with one of the companions and how they don't know how that would work when they always felt they couldn't have love without providing sex- even though its what they really wanted.
This broke my heart, and I've thought about it ever since answering. So, here's Part 2!
Romantic love without Sex, Gale and Tav
- Gale uses prestidigitation on Tavs clothes in the morning, warming them up so it's easier to transition out of the cozy blankets and into the day
-Kisses on hands, shoulders, cheeks, nose, forehead. Always soft, short, adoring. Sometimes he brushes his beard over Tavs skin teasingly, just to get a giggle out of them with the tickle of it
- Makes their favorite foods as often as possible, pays careful attention to their likes and dislikes and even keeps a notebook
- Dates on The Weave, magical illusions beyond Tavs wildest dreams. In fact, the two spend long hours laying in each other's arms talking about dreams and fantasies. Gale conjures them up, and never misses a detail.
- Shared baths. Washing each other's bodies, hair. Incredibly intimate but in a different way- he takes Tavs fingernails and gently works the dirt out from under each one. Tav scrubs his back where he can't reach and teases him about his lack of flexibility
- Polymorph: Sometimes Tav wants to cuddle, but they feel frightened or pressured (even though there is no pressure) just from their own worries and stresses and past trauma. Gale always offers to transform them or himself into an animal instead, so the two can snuggle without any worries of it being anything more than that.
- verbal reassurances: Gale will always let Tav know, as many times as they need to hear it. They are enough. They are enough. Just the way they are.
ace!tav, hurt/comfort, no smut! My Tav is in love with Shadowheart, Gale and Astarion, yes I can fix them all and together we can do anything okay.
You could see it sometimes, when you walked through camp, hear it in their voices. Attraction. You weren’t opposed to a romantic relationship with one (or more) of your new acquaintances. No, friends? Companions? Regardless, you felt more and more sick every time you had to turn someone’s advances down, feeling the relationships you were building grow slightly tense in the aftermath.
Lae’zel was first, and Astarion had propositioned you in the goblin camp, that one stung to turn down, your attraction to him was strong. You almost considered just sucking it up so that he wouldn’t look at you the same way the other two did. Disappointed. You had some wine with Shadowheart, looked at the weave with Gale and shared a thought of you two holding hands, and you couldn’t help but scold yourself. Childish.
Now you settled down for your rest, where a feeling of anticipation for the journey ahead should be, a feeling of discomfort sits in your stomach instead, rumbling through your mind the more you looked at your companions. Astarion caught your eye over the cover of his book, quirking an eyebrow at you. Your cheeks reddened as you cast your eyes to the ground.
“I couldn’t help but notice your eyes on me, darling. I don’t suppose you’ve anything to say?”
He wants you to change your mind, to want him like he wants you.
“Oh, uh, no Astarion, sorry.”
He sighs deeply.
“Right, what’s the problem then? No offense darling but you’ve hardly taken the kicked puppy look off that pretty face all day, and surely my offer isn’t so bad you’ve been actually hurt by it.”
You shook your head, hands outstretched in a placating manner, not that Astarion sounded particularly upset by any stretch. Although, he rarely did, upset or not.
“No, not at all! It’s something personal, an issue for me alone to deal with.”
You could feel eyes on you, assessing the situation. It was no secret, the flame you had for Astarion, let alone for some of your other companions, but neither was your rejection of his advances. Lae’zel in particular was not being subtle, eyes glued on the two of you while she sharpened her sword, Gale’s flitting between you and Astarion with barely-disguised interest. Your shoulders slumped.
“Since all of you are so interested, how about we all talk about it, and get it open amongst the group.”
The palpable lack of eyes on you suddenly made you almost more self-conscious, and Astarion looked almost… annoyed.
“Oh yes, let's talk to the whole camp about you rejecting me.”
It took maybe 5 minutes to gather everyone, sans Withers and Halsin, around the fire, the sunset light casting a pink-orange hue over the scene. You sighed, hands clasped in your lap, fiddling with the little ring you’d bought from the tiefling child, one to supposedly ‘ward off ants.’ Gale had laughed at you and you’d just blushed, remembering how it felt to search for any money you could as a kid. It gave you something to play with now, at least, so it was useful in the end.
“Look, everyone… I'd like be honest with you all, as many of you have been with me.”
A murmur of agreeance went around the group, their attention focused.
“You’ve all – literally all of you – flirted with me at some point in this journey.”
Suddenly, eyes on each other, narrowed and wide alike. Shock, suspicion, and jealousy ran abound, but still, nobody said a word, waiting for you.
Why am I the leader here?
“And look, I truly take no issue with flirting. I enjoy it, most of the time. I just – “
Deep breath.
“Ever since I was a child, there’s been something wrong with me. I feel love, so much of it, but when it comes to… well, after, there’s no feeling. I would well and truly fall in love with any of you but I have no feeling, or desire, to have sex.”
The eyes on you blinked, but still no response came, and your stomach dropped into the pit of your stomach.
“I know that there’s something broken within me, and of course I don’t expect your understanding at all, in fact I’m sure some of you may feel that I’ve led you on, but truly-“
Your rambling was interrupted by hands on either side of your face.
Shadowheart, of all people, knelt in front of you, her hands were glowing blue.
“I can’t sense a thing wrong with you, which means it must be natural. It is okay, to not want or crave sex as the rest of us do. I am more than happy to just be in your presence and only do the things you want to do. That will always be enough.” A tear rolled down your face, as she kissed your nose, and moved to make room for Gale, who took your hand in his, gently squeezing.
“You are not broken, nor are you the only one who feels this way. In fact, I know someone quite the same, back in Waterdeep. I can assure you that anyone who gets to know you will be more than charmed enough to overlook it, and if they cannot, then they don’t deserve you at all.”
You offered him a watery smile, squeezing his hand.
“I don’t expect all of you to understand, but thank you, at least, for hearing me out. I might take a walk.”
You let go of Gale’s hand, smiling at Shadowheart and walked past a silent Astarion and a pensive-looking Lae’zel. You truly didn’t want to think about what the rest of your companions thought about your feelings, you had enough thoughts of your own to contend with as you walked into the forested area behind your camp. Your whole life – childhood, your teenage years, you’d never met anyone like you, let alone anyone who accepted it so wholly. And here were two people who both accepted you and assured you that you were not alone.
You were so lost in thought you’re surprised you even heard a crunch of soil behind you. You spun, drawing your dagger, relaxing fully when you spotted Astarion.
“Snapping twigs on purpose are you?”
He smiled, walking towards you.
“Well darling, I need to give you enough notice to get away from that dagger of yours in time.”
You smiled weakly, sheathing it away and wrapping your arms around yourself.
“Astarion, you don’t need to-“
“I need to apologise actually.”
You looked up at him, red eyes meeting your own.
“I asked you for sex, and when you said no I viewed it as a challenge, not a firm answer. That’s… not okay.”
He appeared almost pained, and you reached out for his arm on instinct.
“Astarion, you aren’t the first and you won’t be the last.”
His eyes met yours, steeled and angry.
“Your body and feelings are yours, nobody should ever try to take that choice, that truth, away from you.”
You thought about what Astarion had told you previously, about Cazador and his treatment of Astarion.
“Nobody should have taken it away from you either Astarion.”
He took a step back, and a deep breath through his nose as his eyes closed, opening them again with a determined, but soft look in his eyes.
“I know. Thank you. But let’s not distract from what I came here to tell you, which is that you are not broken, at all.”
You were sure he could hear your heart beat faster at his words, perhaps even smell the blood flush your cheeks. He sighed, a heavy, deep sigh, of someone afraid of what might happen next.”
“I also wanted to tell you that you were wrong.”
Your heart felt like it stopped in your chest.
“About?”
“Do you remember when I was trying to honey you with words, how you laughed and said I was lying when I said ‘I love you?’ Well, I think I do. Or, well, I’m starting to.”
Oh.
Your mouth opened uselessly, and Astarion kept talking.
“I had this 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. But you wouldn’t sleep with me. I tried everything – a knee between your legs as I fed, slight touches, outright asking. And even though I didn’t get anywhere with my seduction – I failed the other part of my plan, the part where I didn’t fall for you.
Your mouth was dry, and you licked your lips, eyes on the ground, watching an ant scurry away from you. Damned ring, maybe it was magic.
“You… you’re incredible.”
His hand found your cheek, your face angled back towards him.
“You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”
A tear fell from your eye. You had no right to be hurt, you knew this was how he was trained – a training he was trying his hardest to break. But you’d let yourself fall for him, let yourself let someone into this closely guarded place within you.
“Were you ever attracted to me, really? Or was it all just to try and bed me.”
He looked almost shocked, throwing his hands out towards your body.
“Of course I was attracted to you! I mean, look at you for goodness sake! You’re a vision.”
He took your hand in his then, looking into your eyes, as if willing you to believe him to take his honestly at face value and not question him.
“And you’re so much more than that. I just… don’t know what to think. I don’t know what I want.” You enveloped his hands in yours, stepping closer as he spilled more of his truth to you.
“Gods, I don’t even know what ‘real’ looks like. Not after two hundred years playing the rake. Being close to someone, any kind of intimacy, was something I performed, a lure to bring people back to him. The idea of sex – it feels tainted. It brings up all these feelings of disgust, and loathing. I just – I don’t know how else to be with someone.”
He put his chin up, addressing his next words to the empty space behind your head.
“No matter how much I’d like to.”
You’d seen him do this before, of course. Addressing the space behind you, steeling himself for disappointment, for rejection.
“Astarion…” you murmured, running your hand down his arm, reminding him you’re still here, present.
“I care about you, deeply.”
His eyes shot back to yours, wide and hopeful.
“Really?”
You mulled your options here over in your mind, before stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him. He said he didn’t know how else to be with someone, and this was the only way you could be with someone. It took him a moment, but eventually you felt his face in your shoulder, his arms returning your embrace. You stood like that for a few moments, simply enjoying each other’s arms, before you stepped back, his face looking at your longingly. You could hug him every day for the rest of your lives and it wouldn’t be enough.
“You.. you’re full of surprises, aren’t you? Honestly I have no idea what we’re doing – or what comes next.”
The smile on his face lit the darkness around you up, and you couldn’t help but smile back.
“But this,” he took your hand in his, “this is nice.”
You basked in this moment as long as you could, playfully chatting and holding hands, even hugging him again, but eventually, your tired eyes betrayed you, and Astarion insisted you needed rest, tugging you back to camp. You trekked back, cautiously optimistic.
For now, Astarion was yours, okay with your sexlessness, okay with your love for him being only emotional and physical in all the ways excluding sex. Maybe after you killed Cazador, Astarion would change his mind, and seek out a partner who could provide him with everything he could ever want, a true romance. But a fire you thought snuffed out long ago burnt dimly inside you, a hope. You could be enough, as you are, enough for him to love you like you loved him, to stay with you and be happy and content without sex. You closed your eyes, the ground much more flat and without gnarled roots to trip your feet, and your love’s hand for guidance. You let yourself believe.
BONUS:
Wyll: "I didn't mention it earlier, surrounded by your loves and all, but you are whole, love for sex and other festivities or none at all. You're not broken, or wrong, you just have an appetite for a different kind of love. I admire your bravery, my friend."
Lae'zel: While my people sate our appetites freely, there are many among us who may choose not to partake. They are still just as strong in battle, as are you.
Karlach: Soldier, I couldn't care less about something like that! Hell, you could tell me you exclusively fuck bugbears and I'd still love you! Well, actually, maybe not that, but you get the idea! Ugh, I just want to hug you forever. *proceeds to try and do so*
Summary: After meeting and disappointing Araj Oblodra, Imrae takes some time to himself to overthink what happened. Luckily, Astarion comes to save him from himself. [Angst with Happy Ending]
Pairings: Astarion x Imrae (Named Tav), Background Karlach x Wyll
Timeline: Early Act 2
Word count: 3480
Many many thanks for their kind words on the WIP snippets to:
@burnt-by-marigolds, @missfortunetherogue, @elceewunjo, @et-augury, @corvusalbus93 and @play-me-a-durge. Love you ❤
CONTENT WARNING:
It is my take on how Astarion's Act 2 confession went for my first Tav, so past non-consent/sex trafficking.
He was alone at last.
Perched on a ledge, kindly swallowed by darkness, Imrae could finally hear himself think. It had been too loud in camp tonight, with every sound amplified and echoing in the abandoned basement rooms of Moonrise, be it Gale's musings about Mystra's demand, Shadowheart's pining for the favour of her goddess, or Wyll practising poetic lines to court a certain fiery tiefling woman.
There was one man among their group whose voice he would have liked to hear, but Imrae did not dare to go and look for him.
Astarion had ventured back upstairs, perhaps to find some livestock or a careless goblin that nobody among the cultists would miss, but certainly to be alone after what had occurred earlier today. The last thing he needed was for another drow to bother him.
Imrae tugged at the collar of his new clothes, given to him on demand so he could be presentable in front of Ketheric Thorm. They were heavy, and coarse in places, but they offered some warmth in these cold halls. Astarion had even joked that they covered too much neck for his liking when Imrae had put them on in their new encampment.
What a difference five minutes could make.
He let out an angry sigh. He had simply wanted to stock up on elixirs and remedial potions while they were infiltrating Moonrise Towers, and the cultists had directed them to their alchemist.
Araj Oblodra.
The very thought of the woman made his stomach turn. The stench of her laboratory. The way she had leered at Astarion, entranced by his fangs. How she had stared, expecting Imrae to know his place and do as he had been taught, True Soul or not. Her lips might have said otherwise, but her eyes had been commanding him to bow to her, to cater to her every wish, and to force his companion to do the same.
No matter how much time passed, no matter how much distance he put between him and his past self, the old painful lessons still caught up to him in such moments, along with feelings of shame and helpless anger. He had never fought it back then. He had kept his head down until it had almost been too late.
But today had not been about him. On the contrary, Araj had wanted to make him complicit in the same dealings he had escaped decades ago. Goods for a charge's service. A potion for a bite to the neck. An alliance for a comely consort. The thought had overwhelmed him, nearly paralysed him, and had made him hesitate just long enough for tension to arise before he had reinforced the refusal to the blood merchant.
Astarion had been quiet afterwards. He had offered a few of his usual biting remarks at the curiosities they found within the cult of the Absolute, but the effort had felt half-hearted at best, like he was deep in thought and miles away.
Had he misread the situation and ruined a clever swindle Astarion was setting up? It was possible, but his discomfort, his anger and his fear had seemed so real in that moment.
A hoarse laugh escaped Imrae's lips. He had really ruined everything, hadn't he, this intriguing and beautiful kinship he had found with a man who could understand him better than anybody, who made him laugh and life more bearable, who delighted in discussions about the less palatable aspects of life, and who knew how it was to be an elf cast into darkness, and how it felt to be feared, distrusted and hunted for simply existing.
His mind began to race. What else had he done to cause Astarion doubt his intentions, his trustworthiness? Had he been patronizing? Had he been too much? Had he been not enough?
Some of it might be skin-deep, quite literally in his case. On their second night together, when Imrae had offered to remain more clothed to keep the spellscript in his skin hidden, Astarion had laughed, declined and called him a “sweet thing” for it. But being reminded of one of the worst nights of his existence whenever he looked at his lover's body, Hells, his very face, it must have been painful.
Maybe he had sounded a little too proud about his work when Karlach had admired the carved runes on his face and arm on one of her first mornings with them in camp. Proud like Cazador must have been of his damned poetry in the end. How could one even ask another to trust them when they did such similar things as their worst tormentor?
Was that it? Was that why Astarion had gotten worried when Araj had gone over his head and asked his leader? Would he have gone along with biting her if Imrae had told him to? He didn't have that kind of power over their rogue, did he? Or did Astarion gravitate to him because he felt familiar? How similar to the vampire lord of Baldur's Gate was he truly?
No! Imrae slammed his fists into the stone floor to ground himself, then started to regulate his breathing to keep himself from descending into absurdity. No, such thoughts were beyond insulting to the both of them. Astarion was so much stronger than that. They were kindred spirits, as the rogue had put it when they had met, and Imrae would rather feed himself to a purple worm than choose to get close to someone who reminded him of his former guardian.
That one nagging question remained though. Why had Astarion been afraid? Imrae wracked his tadpole-infested head once more, retracing his steps to their nights together. He had offered his neck as a playful gesture, a show of trust, not as a plea to feel the sensation of a vampire's bite again. But how was Astarion to know that?
Perhaps he had been worried about a jealous outburst? Or the opposite, perhaps he thought that Imrae considered the biting to be a triviality, a fun game, something a vampire must want at all times. But it was intimate, in a sense, the closeness that was required when feeding on a volunteer rather than an already dying brigant by the roadside. That was the part Imrae had enjoyed, someone wanting to be near him, not the teeth in his neck, Hells, not even the sex. He couldn't care less about the latter otherwise.
A violent twitch tugged at his ears when fancy shoes clacked on a discarded table nearby, and it caused his heart to hammer against its confines. It was a rogue's way of announcing himself, letting himself be heard when he very well could have approached in silence.
Keeping his steps light but audible as he navigated the labyrinth of old furniture, Astarion drew closer and climbed onto the ledge with feline grace. There were spots on his face and shirt, as well as in his hair, blood from the smell of it. “I want to thank you,” he said, his voice a whisper in the dark.
Imrae had expected anything, but not that. “What for?”
“For what you said, while I was in front of that vile drow.”
His heart clenched at the last two words before his head untangled them. Araj was vile and a drow. He was only the latter, at least right now. Imrae forced himself to speak despite this tightness spreading to his throat. “You don't need to thank me for keeping my word to watch your back.”
“I think I do, in this instance.” Astarion stopped. His usual mannerism were missing, his voice was smaller, deeper, full of hesitation, and his next words made it clear why. “I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered.”
Imrae felt the bile rise in him. That was what that beast Cazador had made Astarion do when he was not torturing him with putrid rats and infernal poetry. It hadn't simply been pretty words packaging the promise of a warm stately room, perhaps a nice meal, along with a wink from these soulful eyes that had lured people into the vampire lord's grand estate, but the promise and use of Astarion's body.
“You could have asked me to do the same, to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned.” Astarion paused, calming his voice. “But you didn't. And I'm grateful.”
“I would never ask any of you to do something I would not do myself.” Imrae tried to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat, to no avail. “You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. It is your choice, never mine.”
“It's a novel concept, I admit. And a little intimidating.” Astarion put on a small, brave smile as he spoke, but it vanished when he continued his musings. “It would have been so easy to bite her. To just go along with what I was being told to do. A moment of disgust to force myself through, and then I could have carried on, just like before.”
Words could not fit past the lump in Imrae's throat. What else had Astarion forced himself through just to carry on afterwards since they met? His chest ached, and he felt ill. All he could do to disagree was shake his head with as much vigour as he could muster.
Astarion took it as a sign to keep talking. “The entire reason for my existence was to seduce anything with a pulse. And every instinct I have tells me that nothing's changed. That I'm still just a means to an end. You made me see I never stopped thinking like I was still his slave, even in freedom. But I'm more than that. More than a thing to be used.”
The ache in his chest became unbearable. “I ask for your forgiveness, Astarion, for any instance in which I have made you feel like you are,” Imrae said, the words bursting out of him with unintended speed and force. “I admire you, you're my favourite person to talk to, I care about you, I don't know the words to express how much, and I cannot bear the thought of being yet another source of pain for you. Say the word, and I will bother you no longer, but that would change nothing about my promise to watch your back, and about helping you with whatever Raphael will demand for telling you about your scars.” He gasped for air. “If you still want my help, of course.”
“You... you are full of surprises, aren't you?” Astarion seemed stunned by the outburst, but the smallest and most uncertain of smiles tugged at his lips. Both their masks had dropped and lay shattered on the floor, but neither did anything to put them back together. “And I... don't know. It's been so long since I've had to decide what I wanted.”
“I have been there.” Imrae gave him the most encouraging smile he could find within himself in that moment. “From the experience of a fellow runaway, sometimes it is easier to decide that which you don't want, and then work from there.”
He prepared himself to be told to leave, his smile turning sombre in the process. It had been great, magical even, but all great things had to come to an end sooner or later, and this seemed long overdue. He would continue to admire Astarion from afar, his razor-sharp wit, his deadly precision with bow and blade, his ability to open any door for them and to clear any trap-ridden hallway.
And when this was all over, when their group would part ways after ridding themselves of the tadpoles, when Imrae would have returned to the Underdark, to the solitude of abandoned temples and ruined cities, he would remember what they shared, brief as it was, with great fondness. So lost was he in the future that he almost startled when Astarion's voice pulled him back to the here and now.
“I don't want this-” the pale elf gestured between the two of them, “-what we share, whatever it is, to be over.” His voice was but a whisper, but the tender determination in his eyes caused Imrae's heart to flutter.
It was an unfamiliar sensation, one he had heard about in songs, but had never felt for himself. Imrae took a few even breaths before he responded, trusting that Astarion would be patient with him as well. “Me neither,” he whispered back.
Astarion smiled, not the cheeky rakish smile he wore day-to-day, but a warm yet quivering one. “I also don't want you to think of me in terms of sex. I don't know if I want anyone to.”
I don't think of you or others that way, Imrae wanted to say, though he knew those words would ring hollow after their nights together, so he made up his mind to show Astarion the very same. “May I?” he asked as looked him in the eye, reaching out with his consciousness to send a gentle invitation.
When he felt their minds mingle, he focused on his fondest moments of the last tendays, like skulking through ancient ruins together, discussing different ways to kill one another in the event of ceremorphosis, the night Astarion had made him laugh so hard that it had woken up Lae'zel in her tent nearby, the fire in his eyes when he was planning his revenge, the nights of teaching one another hand signs, or the times the rogue had pocketed oranges or lemons, not for the camp's stock, but as a treat for Imrae.
“Aren't you sweet...” Some levity had found its way back into Astarion's voice, and it lacked the almost belittling tone with which he had spoken similar words on their second night.
“Sex can be a very beautiful thing, but it does not make or break a relationship, at least not for me.” Imrae gasped despite not having spoken much. “I rarely if ever think of people in terms of it, and I never know what people mean when they claim that their blood is running hot.”
Astarion brushed a lock of his hair into place. “No exceptions? Present company included?” he asked, and to Imrae's relief it sounded playful, like he was fishing for compliments rather than doubting him.
“I have working eyes, Astarion,” Imrae said with a fond smile. “You are very beautiful, and yes, more so than Lae'zel's exotic charms, but also so much more than that. My odd qualities do not reflect badly on you.” He gave Astarion a formal bow, one he had not performed in decades. “I assure you of my utmost affection and reverence.”
“Really?” The word was a raw whisper.
Imrae swallowed. It was now or never. “Really. I don't want to be alone again,” he confessed, his words flowing at a fast pace once more. “I know that must be hard to believe when I spend a lot of time at camp by myself, I'm not used to being around people for extended periods of time, not any more, or maybe I never was when nobody considered what I wanted either.” He gasped for air again. “Solitude was comfortable, and I told myself that such was the price of freedom.”
Brows furrowed with doubt and perhaps worry, Astarion waited for him to conclude his point.
“But, as so often, I was wrong. There is great freedom in companionship, in what we share, whatever it is,” Imrae said, echoing Astarion's words as he smiled up at the taller elf.
“I do like the sound of that... Honestly, I have no idea what we're doing. Or what comes next.” The sincerity of Astarion's voice was more disarming than any of his well-practised compliments had been. He reached out and put a gentle hand on Imrae's. “But I know that this? This is nice.”
“Nice is wonderful. We deserve it.”
Astarion's smile widened, gaining a hint of mischief. “We do, don't we?” He caressed the hand he was grasping when he remembered something. “As for your apology... I wouldn't still be here if you had committed some grave injustice against me, so let's let the past be water under the bridge and start anew, shall we?”
“Why?” Imrae asked, amused by Astarion's sudden eagerness to change the subject.
“Oh, you too know how it goes, people don't trust drow or vampires, perhaps understandably, so someone needed another on his side and easily seduced them. And then felt quite stupid when I- he started to genuinely feel something for the other... Trust me, I was not happy about it. You were a complication I didn't see coming.”
“You are not the first to speak these exact words, my dearest, though you are the first to speak them with fondness.” Imrae laughed, and he put on a challenging look. “So, in the end, you are saying that the evil drow wizard ruined your plans?”
Astarion snorted. “Let's not be hasty. Right now, I'm the hero, the charming rake saving his pretty drow prince from a sad dark lonely cob-webbed tower.”
“Ah. Of course. I forgot that towers and wizards have no correlation whatsoever.” Imrae stepped a bit closer to his beau. “Tell me more about that prince.” It was his turn to fish for compliments now.
Another snort. “Well, he is no Wyll, but he'll do. Truth be told he's strange, and a bit shabby, and smug, and bossy, and he's in a cult from the looks of it,” Astarion said, keeping a straight face while his free hand played with the silver Absolutist pendant around Imrae's neck. “Also, he has so many words pent up within him that he is the one we should have been worried about exploding, not Gale.”
Imrae gave him a chuckle when in truth he wanted to give him the world. His outburst earlier had not been planned, much to his embarrassment, and Astarion was once again making light of it by making him laugh.
“He's also brave, brut, brilliant, breathtaking, and many other things that would break that little alliteration and that would make his head swell a little too much.”
Bashful from the compliments, Imrae lowered his gaze until it fell onto their entangled hands, and his heart quickened at a sudden thought. “May the prince kiss the hero's hand in gratitude?”
“He doesn't have to ask...” Astarion loosened his grasp. “But I'm glad he did.”
Heart beating even faster, Imrae took the rogue's pale hand in his and raised it to his lips in a slow and gentle fashion. Ages ago, before his escape, he had been made to read a book on the proper technique of various kisses, some to tease, some to comfort, and while he remembered almost none of it, forgotten in lieu of rituals and incantations, the chapter that concerned the hand, the fingers and the wrists had remained in his memory.
His lips brushed Astarion's knuckles before Imrae planted a kiss on the back of his hand, feeling the bones under the cool skin, inhaling the remnants of perfume that masked the smell of blood and the lack of the scents that a living body settled one with.
Turning the hand around, keeping it close to his face, Imrae sought Astarion's gaze, looking for any sign of discomfort within it, but he found guarded yet unblinking fascination. Keeping their eyes locked, he kissed each digit, and a smile had spread over his face by the time he was finished. His heart was still beating at a faster pace, but it had settled into the comfortable sort of excitement he had often felt during his adventures in the Underdark.
“I... could get used to this.” Astarion flexed his nimble fingers, then reached for Imrae's left cheek and traced the arcane glyphs carved into it. If their presence caused him discomfort, he did not show a trace of it. “Let's get you back to camp now, shall we? Warm you up, tell the others, find something drinkable around my tent.” He lowered his hand to the small of Imrae's back. “I'll even allow you to bring that moth-eaten blanket of yours.”
“That blanket saved my life once, and not in the way you might think.”
Astarion scoffed. “So you keep saying, but you have yet to tell me the story, despite me being, and I quote, your favourite person to talk to. Perhaps you're stalling because it is embarrassing, or maybe lewd?” He gave a scandalized gasp. “Perhaps both?”
