There was something shiny behind a spiderweb she'd spotted moments before, and now Vistri just had to have it. Karlach was beginning to regret having pointed it out. Her frustration burned hot enough to cast dancing shadows across the others’ faces.
Echoes and stalactites dripped around them. The cave’s damp, sticky air swallowed up the tiefling's booming voice within layers of soft stone.
And Vistri was a bent-over, wriggling ass.
“Hang on,” she replied with reaching effort.
Astarion gave a dramatic sigh, “She always has to get her hands on everything. Just let it happen! We’ll get out of here faster if we don’t argue.”
Gale wriggled his eyebrows teasingly at the vampire spawn, “You’d know that, wouldn’t you?”
Karlach threw her head back and howled. Her laughter shook the cave.
“Do you want to get us all killed?” Gale anxiously shushed her.
“Spiders are fucked mate. We’re the only ones left.”
“We don’t know that for sure though! And I’d rather not be taken by surprise.”
“Astarion, darling?” Vistri called out, still as bent over as before, “Do me a favor and hold my bum? If I could reach just a little further…”
Gale took the opportunity to speak first, “Go on, Astarion—The bum awaits!”
“Grab her bum!” Karlach chanted, “Grab her bum!”
Astarion rolled his eyes at both of them as best he could.
Then he did Vistri a favor, and grabbed her bum.
“Aaaaay!” Karlach and Gale cheered.
He stood behind her, pouting. There truly was no way to steady her hips that wasn’t suggestive, and those two absolute children were losing it.
“Now, really!”
“Ah-HAH!” Vistri cried out in gloating triumph—Shooting upwards so abruptly, and so completely covered in spiderweb, that webbing splattered all over Astarion.
“Augh!" he spat, utterly exasperated, "That went inside my mouth!”
“Worth it!” Vistri declared, showing off her prize: Hard, dark leather armor for the forearms that laced up along the sides. They were quite plain except for the embroidery woven all along it in elegant patterns of silver thread.
“Oh, those are quite lovely,” Gale said, stepping closer.
“No!” Vistri pulled them back protectively, “I won’t let you eat these!”
“I wasn’t!—I wasn’t going to eat them! And for the last time… I don’t eat magical items, I absorb them!”
“These aren’t magical anyway," she lied, "They’re just pretty.”
Gale sighed, “I wasn’t…”
Astarion grinned, “Not as pretty as you, my dear.”
Vistri flipped one of her braids to the side, “Aw, stop!”
“Eugh, they’re being all mushy again! Gale, tell them to stop. It’s too much cuteness, I can’t take it.”
At the mention of cuteness, both Astarion and Vistri stifled imperceptible shivers of disgust.
“Why do I have to be the one to tell them to stop?”
“Cuz you’re like a dad.”
“I’m not—“
“You are!” Vistri laughed, “You’re just like somebody’s dad.”
“Not the Daddy vibes you hoped to give off, eh?” Astarion teased.
Needless to say, Gale pouted the whole way back to camp.
When they returned, Karlach announced, “Gale is everyone’s dad!”
“Oggy! Oggy! Oggy!” Wyll chanted in acknowledgment.
“Oi! Oi! Oi!” Karlach shouted, pumping her fist in the air. Gale had to duck.
While the others tried convincing Gale it was a good thing that he was the camp dad, Astarion eyed Vistri making a beeline for Shadowheart's tent. His was conveniently near enough to make a show of tidying up his space as if paying no mind to their chat.
“You’ll never guess what I found at the bottom of a spider web,” he watched Vistri say.
Shadowheart raised a brow, “Lolth’s chosen?”
"No—And how dare you!" she rebuked with a smile before proudly revealing the treasure in her pack, “I found these beautiful things!”
"They're… Nice. Um, wow!"
Astarion couldn't quite see Shadowheart's face, but was able to surmise from her tone that she was doing her very best to give Vistri the response she was hoping for.
Vistri narrowed her violet eyes, "Well… Thank goodness they're not for you!"
She stuffed the armor back in her pack before storming off, right past him, towards Lae'zel. Astarion tossed a soiled rag vaguely into the surrounding trees.
Seeking Lae'zel's opinion must have been meant as a slight to Shadowheart, because that Githyanki was not going to blink at anything less than a silver sword. Vistri should know better than to expect anything more. He almost laughed seeing her huff away after being predictably blown off.
Next, Vistri drifted over to Halsin and Wyll. While they stood too far across camp to be heard, Astarion could tell she must have finally found compliments by the way they all moved. Lighter of foot afterwards, she even made her way over to Withers. He, however, met her findings with even less enthusiasm than Shadowheart and Lae'zel had.
Finally, she doubled-back to him. Astarion shook out the last drops of an empty wine bottle to appear to be doing anything else besides waiting for her to reach him.
“It’s because of the undead thing, isn’t it?” Astarion smirked as Vistri approached.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Right. Do you sew?” she asked, knowing full well already that he did.
“What?”
Vistri held up one of the arm bands, “The thread is loose here. Look!”
Her childish demands landed so startlingly different from Cazador's that it made him smile.
“Are you asking me to fix it?”
"No," she lied, rolling her eyes. The last thing Vistri ever wanted to do was ask for help, especially from him.
And the fact that she had something to lose meant Astarion had something to win. He delighted in it.
“It seems to me your new treasure is soiled and I’m the only one here you trust to mend it properly.”
"That isn't—!" she started to deny, but seeing immediately that her denial only made his expression more insufferable, suddenly decided the truth had less information in it, and admitted, "I mean… It's not—It's not un-true…"
“So, you’re asking me to fix it?”
Since he wasn't letting this go, Vistri tried another tactic and laughed, "No, you silly peach!" Then, speaking just a bit closer and holding a suggestion taut between their eyes, she told him, "You're going to offer."
Insolence was the word that came to mind. Her blinking grin said, I have a need you’re lucky enough to fulfill, but her eyes were not so sure. One only had to pay enough attention to see something shifting in them. Like slipping fingers on a precipice that would go one way or another depending on his acquiescence. Asking, Was she worth it?
Not wanting to deny her the better answer, Astarion gave in.
“Would you like me to fix it?”
Vistri's warm smile contained no acceptance or acknowledgement of his unspoken affection. She simply batted it away with blinking eyes.
"Oh, darling! How very kind of you!"
She wasted no time shoving the armor into his hands.
He caught her by the wrist as she tried to flit away. Not letting her go just yet, he demanded in a soft tone, "Say thank you."
Her breath quickened and stopped. Her focus settled over his mouth, grazing his lips still saturated in those words.
"Thank you."
Astarion dropped her wrist like it was a bite of fire.
And went to work assessing the damage.
With a closer look, he could see that it wasn't just a simple tug on the embroidery. A blade or something must have slashed it because the threading fell apart along a distinct line. The original pattern was almost unrecognizable, and even the unmarred thread was old and frayed. He'd have to use some of his own. Luckily he'd picked up a spool of silver the other day. Perhaps not the same tone, but…
Vistri was still standing there. She hadn't gone away.
“You’ve never been one for micromanagement. Please don’t start now, dear.”
“I wasn’t—I just…”
“Oh?”
Vistri scoffed, “Never mind that!”
“I think you just prefer to hang around,” he teased, seizing the opportunity to relish in his power, and then immediately regretting the implication.
What if she truly just wanted to be near him?
Scowling, Vistri turned her face away like a cat blinking someone out of existence.
Before their silence could marinate into something awkward, Gale came sauntering over, escaping cheers of “Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!” from the other part of camp.
“What kind of nasty thing did you say to make Vistri, of all people, blush?”
“I’m not—!”
Astarion smirked, “I dare not repeat it.”
“You scoundrel!” Gale winked.
"That's where you're wrong, wizard. It's charlatan. Scoundrel is my cousin."
He caught the amused glint in Vistri's eyes from the corner of his.
Gale chuckled, but upon deciding the air between these new lovers was too thick for him to stand, awkwardly muttered an excuse to go elsewhere.
Vistri, not wanting to be accused of wanting to stick around, did the same.
Instead of watching her walk away, Astarion turned his full attention to the task at hand: Finding wherever the fuck he put that spool of thread.
Night didn't take long to fall. They must've been in that damn cave for longer than they thought.
The campfire, shining brightly in the absence of the sun, became a refuge around which everyone gathered. Turned from its glare, Astarion felt the heat of it on his back. His eyes were glued to the threadwork he was attempting to replicate.
"You know… This would go a lot faster without you looming over my shoulder," he muttered with string in his teeth.
"I am not looming," Vistri insisted, "I'm speaking to Wyll, who as you can see if you'd look up for a moment, is sitting right by me."
"You haven't peeped a word."
"I happen to be listening."
"Well, yes. But he hasn't said anything for a while either."
Indeed, what had started as a playful debate with Lae'zel about dragons now trapped him in a familiar flurry of praises for Vlaakith. He hadn't said anything for a while, because he couldn't find a polite way to interrupt. As swift as Lae'zel's massive blade, one sentence cut into the next.
Hearing his name finally gave Wyll an opportunity to turn elsewhere.
"Vistri, did you know that Vlaakith's fury is sweeter than a thousand astral berries?"
"What?" Lae'zel was thrown off, "There are no astral berries."
Vistri couldn't help herself, "Then what was in that astral berry pie the other day?"
"What?" Lae'zel asked again.
"Oh bother," Vistri shrugged, sighing, "We'll never know!"
"Somebody say 'pie'?" Karlach called from across the flames.
Wyll laughingly nudged Vistri, "All yours!"
Without delay, she answered over the fire, "Ask Camp Daddy if there's any left!"
"Mystra's tits!"
Astarion watched the shadow of Vistri's hand land delicately on what he supposed was the shadow of Wyll's thigh. Such an unguarded gesture, highlighted by the dancing flames.
The thread between his fingers came into such hyper-focus that it blurred his vision as their shared laughter deafened his ears. Something like fear tightened his throat. The possibility of catching Cazador's eyes glowing in the trees was more real to Astarion than the peace of this moment continuing. His shoulders grew tight, bracing for a familiar impact. He forced himself to get lost in the embroidery before him. To pass the time before hell chose to descend.
Shadowheart inching closer marked more passing of time.
"I've never seen you so diligent," she remarked with a plum-stain tongue, "You've been at that thing all night!"
Her wine-breath carried into the wind and flirted warmly with the noses of those nearby. "Although I'm sure Vistri's been made privy to this side of you!" she chuckled to herself, "Plenty of times!"
"All night?" Wyll teased.
"Don't sell me short now, darling," Astarion cautioned before Vistri could form an answer.
She didn't hesitate to open her mouth before formulating a reply. Whatever it was that rolled off her tongue, Vistri could trust to be sufficiently clever and pleasing. Giving other people what they wanted was an instinct.
"I don't think short is a word I could use to describe any part of you."
It wasn't her best line, but Vistri was too distracted by the shadows licking Astarion's cheek to care much.
Wyll raised an eyebrow that was even more devilish than the horn above it, "What about his dagger?"
They all laughed. Shadowheart's amusement was a little more enthusiastic than the others.
"Have you seen it?" Vistri countered, "It practically runs the length of his thigh!"
Their laughter was fed by a second wave. Shadowheart stumbled against the log Wyll was sitting on, and he caught her in his lap. They exchanged more hilarity back and forth, but Vistri's mind had already wrapped around Astarion's fingers and wouldn't let go.
The way he worked reminded her of the first time she saw him string a bow. It was on the hill, by the gate of the Grove they'd just saved. There was a grace to it more honest than the rest of his graces. That was the first time she saw a hint of something underneath that vapid surface.
Disappointed that her friend left the conversation so abruptly, Shadowheart interrupted Vistri's hypnotized stare.
"Oy! Drow!" she said, flapping her hand weakly, "Quit being a pervert. Talk to us!"
"Pervert?! How am I a pervert?"
"Shall I count the ways?" Astarion drolled.
"You won't stop staring at the vampire's fingers! We get it! You two shag!"
"Shadowheart!" Vistri whined, "Why are you such a bitch tonight?"
Astarion rolled his eyes at the exchange. Their bicker was like that of two people who grew up together. Not the kind you'd expect from two people who met less than a handful of tendays ago via getting infected with mindflayer parasites!
Lae'zel came out of nowhere to ask, "Just tonight?"
This sent both Vistri and Astarion howling, bursting with relief from more conversation around their collective sex life and lingering attentions.
Shadowheart crossed her legs and flopped an arm over Wyll's shoulders.
"Watch the horns!' he warned, wary of her tipsiness.
"Come on, Wyll!" she said, ignoring him, "Let's go distract someone more grateful."
Lae'zel followed them over towards Karlach, leaving Vistri and Astarion sitting on the log alone, the fire at their backs.
Neither knew what to say, nor were they able to pay much mind to the cacophony of the others. It was isolating without being lonely.
"Really," Vistri spoke, low and blushing, after a long while, "You have my thanks for this."
Astarion smirked. It wasn't quite a real thank you, but at the same time, it was more genuine than that would have been.
"I'll have to think of a way for you return the favor."
"If you must."
There was no real energy to their banter. Not in a disinterested way, but out of the ease and directive of habit.
A stage perpetually existed under both their feet and each had parts to play. Those parts had lines. And after a lifetime of audience delight, they were finally in the presence of another actor.
It was a familiarity they could fall into that held no meaning. But the sharing of that familiarity held so much within it.
Enough to shy away from as much as delight in.
Maybe that's why they sat in silence as, one by one, the others succumbed to their bedrolls. Vistri kept the campfire going. Astarion finished up his work.
Vistri, entranced by the play of shadow across his features, thought about how he could never share her view. One moment, the firelight made him fierce, with an unforgiving brow. The next, it was heaven's light. And everything in between looked like torment.
He'd never be able to see any of it.
"You're staring at me."
"Is that a bad thing?" She posed her question flirtatiously, but truly needed an answer.
"Depends on your reason," he muttered, still not facing her directly. His focus was pulled towards each successive stitch.
Vistri didn't want to say the wrong thing. She just wanted to sit there and continue watching the dance of shadows forevermore.
"Well, I can't exactly admit it's because I want to. Can I?"
She hoped his smile was genuine.
"No, I would think that's against the rules."
"So you see now what a conundrum you've put me in?"
"Quite."
"But then if I lie, you might figure it out and tell me to fuck right off."
He suddenly looked sick.
"Astarion?"
"Nothing! I… I thought the thread fell out of the needle again."
His voice sounded louder in the quiet of the sleeping camp.
"But it didn't?"
"No, it didn't."
"Well then," Vistri said warily, "Nothing to fear."
"Nothing to fear," he nodded slowly.
His confirmation had the opposite intended effect; instead of putting Vistri at ease, it sent her mind racing with everything that was possible to fear.
All of the sudden, she wanted to leave. To be as far away from the pale vampire as possible.
Yet she was frozen in place.
Astarion, still only glancing occasionally at her shadow, missed the expression on Vistri's face, but not her shift in energy.
He took it for a festering impatience that grew impossible for her to hide.
"Here we are," he said, quickly tying up the final touch, "All better."
"You've finished?" Vistri asked, snapping out of her trance.
He handed her the armor, eager to show off his work.
"Astarion…"
They were wonderful. He hadn't just mended the one, he improved upon both. What he'd done was far beyond what she'd asked. Whereas before the original pattern seemed to be a spattering of triangles, there was now a flight of lightning.
"You hate it, don't you?"
"No! That's not…"
She loved what he did. He just did too much.
Vistri had been shorter than her knees when she learned that even the gods didn't answer one's cries for help.
So now she didn't know what to do with the treasure in her hands. The extra thought and effort.
But again, she didn't want to say the wrong thing.
Obligation was her way out. If she didn't deserve it, and she didn't, then anything extra was a means to an end. Astarion must want something.
He was at least smart enough to not ask for anything beyond her worth.
"I'm just wondering how many hours I'll have to spend on my knees to make up for this," she winked.
"Oh, please! Even I have limits to the level of flattery I'm willing to accept."
"I really mean it though. These are… actually quite wonderfully done."
"To which we say…?"
Vistri forced herself out of her own way, "Thank you."
Astarion took a sardonic bow.
"Enough!" she giggled.
"Let's see how they look on you—Here, I'll help."
Being that they ran the length of elbow-to-wrist and laced up along the sides, it was much more convenient to have someone else do it. Vistri passed them back to Astarion and held out her arms, palms up.
She felt his hands wrap around hers, pulling her closer.
"Not so far away now."
Astarion's voice was almost a whisper, his touch the equivalent. The gentleness of it was a lure, promising an intimacy they'd never earned. One they could act out as substitute for its lacking existence.
The thrill of it was dangerous. The swooping in her stomach when he stood so close was a death mark. At least if Vistri was only good for one thing, it was something she'd more than willingly give him.
Chapter 1 - A Coeur Gelé is now posted! Chapter will be posted weekly on a Sunday. This chapter is gen, later chapters will contain angst and smut.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Read it under the cut if you like or comment on AO3 to make me really happy :)
Chapter 1: A Cœur Gelé
He shook his head. The air glittered crystalline as tiny motes of ice flew from the grey strands of fur. Below him, the valley spread out for miles between the frozen peaks. Pristine snow muffled the sound of a flock of migrating birds passing overhead. The fading light traced a golden line along the ridge on the opposite side, the tips of the tallest pines alight with the embers of the dying day.
Above the dark tree line, he followed a near-invisible trail. Few animals passed this high, preferring the more sheltered lower reaches. But long years of pilgrimage had ingrained the path in his mind. He spotted a mark in the exposed rock face, carved decades before to point the way, now worn and softened by the elements and his own hand. He reached out and ran his long fingers over it once more.
"Hmph," he tapped the stone and turned back towards his destination. Gripping the smooth wood of his staff, he scoured the path ahead. The flat snow was undisturbed, no sign of any passing.
Monoco pressed on in the gathering twilight. Each step crunched underfoot. The snow was deep, and he sank below the surface, making forward motion slower than he’d like. The cold seeped through the smooth surface of his tibia to the heartwood below. He could withstand extreme temperatures, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t uncomfortable.
“At least it's not wet," he grumbled. His joints creaked where the hoar snuck into the crevices. The broken rock face rose to his right, and he leaned towards it and away from the darkening ledge and the tangle of pine trees below. The breeze, which had been steady since he’d set out at first light, dropped away. The sky was turning an inky black, and bright pin pricks of stars faded into view.
He paid no attention to the spectacle. He trudged onwards, gaze fixed on the middle distance. The moon rose, a sharp crescent peeking over the mountain top. The white ground shone as though lit from below. Brow furrowing, he flexed his fingers around his weapon. The stark moonlight laid the entire landscape out in flat relief, a monochrome painting. He felt a faint pang in his chest, the small flame of warmth that had kept him company through the long day’s hike growing smaller with each step.
The snowfall was entirely undisturbed, save for a few patches of small paw prints. Probably an arctic fox, he thought, nothing more. No one had passed through this way since the last snowfall three days ago.
He let out a long sigh, a puff of warm air billowing in front of him. He pulled the collar of his jacket up with his left hand.
"No point in turning back now anyway." He spotted his destination, a rocky outcrop, indistinguishable from the others along the route. “Maybe there’ll be some leftover wine that I can steep in at least."
It was the eve of a new year. He didn’t usually hold much truc with the human calendar; the rhythm of the seasons came naturally to the Gestrals, and they didn’t tend to plan things in the level of detail that required numbering the days. But he’d found Verso's enthusiasm for small rituals contagious. And the dawning of the new year had indeed become a ritual for them.
For almost fifty years, they had met in these mountains to celebrate the occasion. Another year alive. Another year fighting. Another year together. In any given year, they likely spent as much time apart as together, but this night and the days that came after were the bookends. There had been only a few times missed, notably the year that Monoco had spent stuck under a building. It had, in fact, been his missing New Year’s Eve that had provoked Verso’s search. He still hadn’t found him until the first flush of grass in the spring. Lazy old fart. He shuddered, pushing the memory to the back of his mind as he tried to focus on what lay ahead of him.
Now, the perfect, snow-lined path shone back at him as he glared ahead, mocking in its pristine beauty. He had expected to find the usual trail of destruction that followed Verso in such environments: churned snow and snapped branches. While he could be quite stealthy in the right spot, say a heavily shaded woodland with a large number of noisy birds around, he was hopeless in the snow. Always complaining about the cold, too. Ridiculous idiot. The spark of hope in his chest was gradually being snuffed out.
"If you got stuck in a snowbank, I'm not coming to find you tonight!" His shout was muffled by the powder. Monoco's mind worked over the problem. If he was early and got caught in the blizzard, he could be anywhere along the hillside. Finding him could take days. He suddenly felt very aware of the size of the landscape and his small, lonely place in it. He sighed, a tendril of ice winding its way through his stomach. What if he's not…
The scrape of stone against his bracer snapped him out of his reverie. He looked up at the looming rock face, the surface reflecting the starlight in broken glints of frost and uneven crystals formed during the long cooling of the granite. The stone was craggy, cracked along vertical faultlines. He stepped into one of the long shadows and disappeared.
* * *
Monoco twisted as he stepped through the shadowed gap, palms to the inside of the rock face. Verso could saunter right through the space, but his broad shoulders didn't quite fit the narrow passageway. The gap had been hewn by some invisible force lost in time, and he had happened across it quite by chance while stopping to rest on a post-Fracture exploration mission. He had still been so full of grief then, throwing himself up the mountainside and at any passing Nevron, just to try and staunch the tide that threatened to wash him away.
He sidestepped through the darkness and felt the edge of the stone under his palms, then the empty sensation of space stretching out in the silent umbra. A breeze fluttered around his feet, brushing small flurries of icy powder through the fissure.
He stepped forward into the enveloping black and tapped the bell of his staff with his knuckle. A clear, gentle ring sounded, and a light began to glow, shining out from the lip of the brass. The warm light spilled languidly across the roughly circular room, casting shifting shadows around the stash of items painstakingly hauled up the mountain over the years. It was mostly wood stores, with some crates that he knew largely contained wine.
The wall opposite housed an unusual door. Around the traditional rectangular shape, the frame had been expanded out to meet the surrounding rock. Random planks of wood had been tesselated together, overlapping in some places and butted up tight in others. There was even a reclaimed stained glass piece that they had salvaged from a broken building somewhere in the lowlands, all black and red flashed panes. They hadn't realised until it was secured in place that they had installed the delicate rose design upside down. He had worked on it with Verso during the long January after they had drunkenly made their pact to return each year and then realised that the wind whistled through the whole cave system. But the draughts still snuck through the gaps, it took them another five years to get over their stubbornness enough to concede they needed heavy curtains just to make it comfortable.
He walked across the cold, dusty floor and reached into the sconce to one side of the door-cum-mosaic. The small box was unchanged, precisely where he'd left it, tucked neatly against the left-hand side. Drawing it out of the sconce, he struck a match and lit the brass oil lamp fixed to the rock.
"Maybe he'll find his way in later tonight." He tried to convince himself, but knew that if Verso was on the trail at this late hour, he'd likely arrive hypothermic or not at all. "If I have to go find his frozen arse tomorrow, I swear I'll…" He sighed, finally letting his disappointment wash over him. His shoulders dropped, a sharp pang of absence growing in his chest.
The last few days had been a flurry of activity for him as he prepared for the yearly pilgrimage. He had bartered dry supplies in the Gestral Village, and last night had lain traps in the grassy foothills, ready to snare a brace of rabbits for a stew. He enjoyed the routines they had settled into, where Verso would prepare whatever he'd caught with the herbs and roots they could scavenge. So when this morning the traps had all been full, he had hummed to himself, content in his harvest. The carcasses hung from the sides of his pack, attached with string to the tightly packed Nev legs. As he'd advanced up the mountain, they had gradually frozen, until they made quiet clunking noises as they jostled together during the climb.
He reached for the door handle, resolving to dump some of Verso's precious vintage into a bucket and soak his feet in it until he was thoroughly drunk. It'll serve him right for standing me up. He turned the handle and pulled.
The light hit him unexpectedly, and he lifted his arm instinctively to shield his eyes. He blinked, somehow, for a moment uncertain. This room was small and housed a rough fireplace for cooking. A log crackled, small flames licking around its sides with a deep bed of ashes underneath. Opposite, a passageway led out of the cave; he could see the curve of the tunnel lit by candles.
He rested his staff against the wall, unshouldered his pack, and hung the rabbits over a shelf bracket set into the stone, along with the Nevlegs he kept attached to his belt. The bitterness of disappointment still clawed at his throat, but, who else could it be? He stepped slowly towards the arch, the line of candles piercing the dark like so many shooting stars across the midnight sky.
"Verso?" he called out quietly. He felt a knot form deep in his core, a small pulse that made his heart beat faster. And yet the knawing doubt still lingered in his mind, the doleful feeling of having been discarded, ignored. They mixed in a confusing way. Humans had so many words for emotions, and although his grasp of Lumieran was equal to that of his native tongue, he still got the words backwards sometimes.
He suspected it was not due to the complexity of the language, but rather that something in him had not been painted quite right. Perhaps, it had never been intended that he should feel so many things. And yet.
He wandered along the tunnel, trailing his hand along the dark wall on his right. The stone was smooth here, cool but dry. He heard something up ahead, faint notes that echoed off the walls as they filtered down to him. Music. He moved more quickly now, his feet echoing his heart. He rounded the curve where the passage opened out into a large room. The ceiling was rounded and came down close to the floor, leaving little room under the eaves. All around, more candles were dotted, in clusters on the furniture, next to the pile of furs and pillows they called their bed, and right in the centre of the room, along the rim of Verso's grand piano.
A jumble of notes sounded together, dissonant. A cacophony accompanied by an exasperated grunt from the man with his back to him. His hair had grown longer, dangling past his shoulders. He wore a simple outfit: black breeches and a white roughspun linen shirt. Monoco knew it well, had stitched the unravelling seams enough times, had untied the black lacing at the neck enough times. He only ever wore it when they were alone, preferring his more elaborate gear if they were out adventuring.
He saw him rest his elbows on the keys and run his fingers through his hair, head bowed in thought. The warmth in his stomach grew and spread, squeezing in his chest. Verso. His Verso. He had convinced himself he wouldn't be here, there had been no sign, it didn't make sense. Was this a vision? That must be it, he must have fallen asleep en route and dreamt it all.
Verso lifted his head, cracked his fingers, and returned to the keys. A hesitant melody rang out, amplified by the shape of the room. He always liked playing up here and would witter on for hours about the hearty acoustics. Monoco never really minded; he paid patient attention every time, comforted by the charming intimacy of Verso's stream of consciousness. He would only interject with the odd teasing comment about whether Nevrons were affected by acoustics or whether the Paintress would end up downing tools at the sound. This would inadvertently lead them down increasingly absurd routes of conversation, usually ending with them doubled over in laughter.
He crept forward. Unlike Verso, he had no problem keeping quiet, although his joints were creaking more than usual after the cold and ice. The melody paused as the pianist scribbled down notes with his left hand, the right still on the keys. He to'ed and fro'd between the melody and the paper, too distracted to notice the gestral looming behind him. Monoco raised his hand, reaching out towards the distracted figure.
He slapped Verso around the back of the head. He twisted in a blur of movement, grabbing Monoco's wrist below his bangles before he had time to step back. His grey eyes blazed up at him with a cold fire, his grip like hot iron. He felt the fire spread to him, crawling under his fur, creeping, lapping along his heartwood bones.
The year is 1991, and we are a few years before the first Canadian Shack challenge in Due South fandom. But the "stranded in a cabin in the woods" trope is a beloved one in fandom, reaching back to Star Trek's "huddling in a cave" stories
Been stalling on writing the actual cave scenes of the cave fic, because here we shift from action elements to the thematic and internal stuff and it would help if I had a stronger handle on what the typically moralistic thing I’m trying to include is. (Just kidding, it’s not so much moralistic as... er... some other word.)
Anyway, I reread Anne Carson’s Gender of Sound (and somehow missed first time around the description of polis that echoes what comes up in Terry Pratchett’s Men at Arms?) and got into that whole olyolyga thing that’s gonna be central to the cave fic... then to the whole “women had two mouths, both called stoma” thing... and the whole repression of outbursts thing... and was just wondering how to massage that into a workable thesis...
...went on tumblr and saw gifs of Ezra Miller giving palpable eye sex to the camera while dropping his hips in a glorious back thrust.
This. This cover: Sons of an Illustrious Father - Don’t Cha [x]
Damn.
The Ancient Greeks would be turning in their graves XD
Wasn’t going to take the sexual route in this fic, still not planning on it, but am thoroughly derailed now.
shoutout to @forbiddenarchives for livening up my evening some and making me totally unable to think or work without seeing Ezra Miller in purple lipstick
There was something shiny behind a spiderweb, and she'd made the mistake of pointing it out—Vistri just had to have it! Karlach almost regretted having seen it. Her frustration with her stubborn friend burned hot, casting dancing shadows across the others’ faces.
Echoes and stalactites dripped around them. The cave’s damp, sticky air swallowed up the tiefling's booming voice within layers of soft stone.
And Vistri was a bent-over, wriggling ass.
“Hang on,” she replied with reaching effort.
Astarion sighed dramatically, “She always has to get her hands on everything!—Just let it happen! We’ll get out of here faster if we don’t argue.”
Gale wriggled his eyebrows teasingly at the vampire spawn, “You’d know that, wouldn’t you?”
Karlach threw her head back and howled. Her laughter shook the cave.
The mirth drained instantly from Gale's face. “Do you want to get us all killed?" he shushed anxiously.
“Spiders are fucked mate! We’re the only ones left.”
“We don’t know that for sure, though!" he made a great show of pointing, "And I’d rather not be taken by surprise.”
“Astarion, darling?” Vistri called out over them, still as bent over as before, “Do me a favor and hold my bum? If I could just reach... a little... further…”
Gale took the opportunity to speak first, “Go on, Astarion—The bum awaits!”
“Grab her bum!” Karlach chanted, “Grab her bum!”
Astarion rolled his eyes at them.
Then he did Vistri a favor, and grabbed her bum.
“Aaaaay!” Karlach and Gale cheered.
He stood behind her, pouting. There truly was no way to steady her hips without looking suggestive, and those two absolute children were losing it.
“Now, really!”
“Ah-HAH!” Vistri cried out in gloating triumph—Shooting upwards so abruptly, and so completely covered in spiderweb, that webbing splattered all over Astarion.
“Augh!" he spat, utterly exasperated, "That went inside my mouth!”
“Worth it!” Vistri declared, showing off her prize: Hard, dark leather armor for the forearms that laced up along the sides. They were quite plain except for the embroidery woven all along them in elegant patterns of silver thread.
“Oh, those are quite lovely,” Gale said, stepping closer.
“No!” Vistri pulled them back protectively, “I won’t let you eat these!”
“I wasn’t!—I wasn’t going to eat them! And for the last time… I don’t eat magical items, I absorb them!”
“These aren’t magical anyway," she lied, "They’re just pretty.”
Gale sighed, “I wasn’t…”
“Not as pretty as you, my dear,” Astarion grinned.
Vistri flipped one of her braids to the side, “Aw, stop!”
“Eugh, they’re being all mushy again! Gale, tell them to stop! It’s too much cuteness, I can’t take it.”
At the mention of cuteness, both Astarion and Vistri stifled imperceptible shivers of disgust.
“Why do I have to be the one to tell them to stop?”
“Cuz you’re like a dad.”
“I’m not—“
“You are!” Vistri laughed, “You’re just like somebody’s dad!”
“Not the Daddy vibes you hoped to give off, eh?” Astarion teased.
Needless to say, Gale pouted the whole way back to camp.
When they returned, Karlach announced, “Gale is everyone’s dad!”
“Oggy! Oggy! Oggy!” Wyll chanted in acknowledgment.
“Oi! Oi! Oi!” Karlach shouted, pumping her fist in the air. Gale had to duck.
While the others tried convincing Gale it was a good thing that he was the camp dad, Astarion eyed Vistri making a beeline for Shadowheart's tent. His was conveniently near enough to make a show of tidying up his space, as if paying no mind to their chat.
“You’ll never guess what I found at the bottom of a spider web,” he watched Vistri say.
Shadowheart raised a brow, “Lolth’s chosen?”
"No—And how dare you!" she rebuked with a smile before proudly revealing the treasure in her pack, “I found these beautiful things!”
"They're… Nice. Um, wow!"
Astarion couldn't quite see Shadowheart's face, but he was able to surmise from her tone that she was doing her very best to give Vistri the response she'd been hoping for.
Despite her efforts, Vistri narrowed her violet eyes and snapped, "Well… Thank goodness they're not for you!"
She stuffed the armor back into her pack before storming off, right passed him, towards Lae'zel. Astarion tossed a soiled rag vaguely into the surrounding trees.
Seeking Lae'zel's opinion must have been meant as a slight to Shadowheart, because that Githyanki was not about to blink at anything less than a silver sword. Vistri should know better than to expect anything more. He almost laughed seeing her huff away after being predictably blown off.
Next, Vistri drifted over to Halsin and Wyll. While they stood too far across camp to be heard, Astarion could tell she must have finally found compliments by the way they all gestured. Lighter of foot afterwards, Vistri even made her way over to Withers. He, however, met her findings with even less enthusiasm than Shadowheart and Lae'zel had.
Finally, she doubled-back over to him. Astarion shook out the last drops of an empty wine bottle to appear to be doing anything else besides waiting for her to reach him.
“It’s because of the undead thing, isn’t it?” Astarion smirked as Vistri approached.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Right. Do you sew?” she asked, knowing full well already that he did.
“What?”
Vistri held up one of the arm bands, “The thread is loose here. Look!”
Her childish demands landed so startlingly different from Cazador's that it made him smile.
“Are you asking me to fix it?”
"No," she lied, rolling her eyes. The last thing Vistri ever wanted to do was ask for help, especially from him.
And the fact that she had something to lose meant Astarion had something to win. He delighted in it.
“It seems to me your new treasure is soiled and I’m the only one here you trust to mend it properly.”
"That isn't—!" she started to deny, but immediately seeing that her denial only made his expression more insufferable, suddenly decided the truth had less information in it, and admitted, "I mean… It's not—It's not un-true…"
“So, you’re asking me to fix it?”
Since he wasn't letting this go, Vistri tried another tactic and laughed, "No, you silly peach!" Then, speaking just a bit closer; holding a suggestion taut between their eyes, she told him, "You're going to offer."
Insolence was the word that came to mind. Her blinking grin said, I have a need you’re lucky enough to fulfill, but her eyes were not so sure. One only had to pay enough attention to see something shifting in them. Like slipping fingers on a precipice that would go one way or another depending on his acquiescence. Asking, Was she worth it?
Not wanting to deny her the better answer, Astarion gave in.
“Would you like me to fix it?”
Vistri's warm smile contained no acceptance or acknowledgement of his unspoken affection. She simply batted it away with blinking eyes.
"Oh, darling! How very kind of you!"
She wasted no time shoving the armor into his hands.
He caught her by the wrist as she tried to flit away. Not letting her go just yet, he demanded in a soft tone, "Say thank you."
Her breath quickened and stopped. Her focus settled over his mouth, grazing his lips still saturated in those words.
"Thank you."
Astarion dropped her wrist like it was a bite of fire.
And went to work assessing the damage.
With a closer look, he could see that it wasn't just a simple tug on the embroidery. A blade or something must have slashed it because the threading fell apart along a distinct line. The original pattern was almost unrecognizable, and even the unmarred thread was old and frayed. He'd have to use some of his own. Luckily he'd picked up a spool of silver the other day. Perhaps not the same tone, but…
Vistri was still standing there. She hadn't gone away.
“You’ve never been one for micromanagement. Please don’t start now, dear.”
“I wasn’t—I just…”
“Oh?”
Vistri scoffed, “Never mind that!”
“I think you prefer to stick around,” he teased, relishing the power that gave him, then immediately regretting the implication. What if she truly just wanted to be near him?
Scowling, Vistri turned her face away like a cat blinking someone out of existence.
Before their silence could marinate into something awkward, Gale came sauntering over, escaping cheers of “Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!” from the other part of camp.
“What kind of nasty thing did you say to make Vistri, of all people, blush?”
“I’m not—!”
Astarion smirked, “I dare not repeat it.”
“You scoundrel!” Gale winked.
"That's where you're wrong, wizard. It's charlatan. Scoundrel is my cousin."
He caught the amused glint in Vistri's eyes from the corner of his.
Gale chuckled, but quickly decided the air between the new lovers grew too thick, and awkwardly muttered an excuse to go elsewhere.
Vistri, not wanting to be accused of wishing to stick around again, did the same.
Instead of watching her walk away, Astarion turned his full attention to the task at hand: Finding wherever the fuck he put that spool of blasted thread!
Night didn't take long to fall. They must've been in that damn cave for longer than they thought.
The campfire, shining brightly in the absence of the sun, became a refuge around which everyone gathered. Turned from its glare, Astarion felt the heat of it on his back; his eyes glued to the threadwork he was attempting to replicate.
"You know… This would go a lot faster without you looming over my shoulder," he muttered with string in his teeth.
"I am not looming!" Vistri insisted, "I'm speaking to Wyll, who as you can see if you'd look up for a moment, is sitting right by me."
"You haven't peeped a word."
"I happen to be listening."
"Well, yes. But he hasn't said anything for a while either."
Indeed, what began as a playful debate with Lae'zel about dragons had trapped Wyll inside a familiar flurry of praising Vlaakith. He hadn't said anything for a while, because he couldn't find a polite way to interrupt. As swift as Lae'zel's massive blade, each sentence cut into the next.
Hearing his name finally gave Wyll an opportunity to turn elsewhere, and he took it gladly, "Vistri! Did you know Vlaakith's fury is sweeter than a thousand astral berries?"
"What?" Lae'zel was thrown off, "There are no astral berries."
Vistri, unable to help herself, thoughtfully asked, "Then what was in that astral berry pie the other day?"
"What?" Lae'zel asked again.
"Oh bother," Vistri shrugged, sighing, "We'll never know!"
"Somebody say 'pie'?" Karlach called across the flames.
Wyll laughed and nudged Vistri, "All yours!"
Without any delay, she called back over the fire, "Ask Camp Daddy if there's any left!"
"Mystra's tits!"
Astarion watched the shadow of Vistri's hand land delicately on what he supposed was the shadow of Wyll's thigh. Such an unguarded gesture, highlighted by the dancing flames.
The thread between Astarion's fingers came into such hyper-focus that it blurred his vision as their shared laughter deafened his ears. Something like fear tightened his throat. The possibility of catching Cazador's eyes glowing in the trees was more real to Astarion than the peace of this moment continuing. His shoulders grew tight, bracing for a familiar impact. He forced himself to get lost in the embroidery before him. To pass the time before hell chose to descend.
Shadowheart inched closer, marking the passage of more time.
"I've never seen you so diligent," she remarked with a plum-stain tongue, "You've been at that thing all night!"
Her wine-breath carried into the wind and flirted warmly with the noses of those nearby. "Although I'm sure Vistri's been made privy to this side of you!" she chuckled to herself, "Plenty of times!"
"All night?" Wyll teased.
"Don't sell me short now, darling," Astarion cautioned before Vistri could form an answer.
She didn't hesitate to open her mouth before formulating a reply. Whatever it was that rolled off her tongue, Vistri could trust to be sufficiently clever and pleasing. Giving other people what they wanted was an instinct.
"I don't think short is a word I could use to describe any part of you."
It wasn't her best line, but Vistri was too distracted by the shadows licking Astarion's cheek to care much.
Wyll raised an eyebrow even more devilish than the horn above it, "What about his dagger?"
They all laughed. Shadowheart's amusement was a little more enthusiastic than the others.
"Have you seen it?" Vistri countered, "It practically runs the length of his thigh!"
Their laughter was fed by a second wave. Shadowheart stumbled against the log Wyll was sitting on, and he caught her in his lap. They exchanged more hilarity back and forth, but Vistri's mind had already wrapped around Astarion's fingers and wouldn't let go.
The way he worked reminded her of the first time she saw him string a bow. It was on the hill by the gate of the Grove they just saved, in the first battle they fought to save it. There was a grace to it more honest than the rest of his graces. It was the first time she saw a hint of something interesting underneath his vapid surface.
Disappointed that her friend had left the conversation so abruptly, Shadowheart interrupted Vistri's hypnotized stare.
"Oy! Drow!" she said, flapping her hand weakly, "Quit being a pervert—Talk to us!"
"Pervert?! How am I a pervert?"
"Shall I count the ways?" Astarion drolled.
"You won't stop staring at the vampire's fingers! We get it! You two shag!"
"Shadowheart!" Vistri whined, "Why are you being such a bitch tonight?"
Astarion rolled his eyes at the exchange. Their bicker was like that of two people who grew up together. Not the kind you'd expect from two people who met less than a handful of tendays ago via getting infected with mindflayer parasites!
Lae'zel came out of nowhere to ask, "Just tonight?"
This sent both Vistri and Astarion howling, bursting with relief from more conversation around their collective sex life and lingering attentions.
Shadowheart crossed her legs and flopped an arm over Wyll's shoulders.
"Watch the horns!" he warned, wary of her tipsiness.
"Come on, Wyll!" she huffed, ignoring him, "Let's go distract someone more grateful."
Lae'zel followed them over towards Karlach, leaving Vistri and Astarion sitting on the log alone, the fire at their backs.
Neither knew what to say, nor were they able to pay much mind to the cacophony of the others. It was isolating without being lonely.
"Really," Vistri spoke after a long while, low and blushing "You have my thanks for this."
Astarion smirked. It wasn't quite a real thank you, but at the same time, it was more genuine than that would have been.
"I'll have to think of a way for you return the favor."
"If you must."
There was no real energy to their banter. Not in a disinterested way, but out of the ease and directive of habit.
A stage perpetually existed under their feet and each had parts to play. Those parts had lines. And after a lifetime of audience delight, they were finally in the presence of another actor.
It was a familiarity they could fall into that held no meaning. But the sharing of that familiarity held so much within it.
Enough to shy away from as much as delight in.
Maybe that's why they sat in silence as, one by one, the others succumbed to their bedrolls. Vistri kept the campfire going. Astarion finished up his work.
Vistri, entranced by the play of shadow across his features, thought about how he could never share her view. One moment, the firelight made him fierce, with an unforgiving brow. The next, it was heaven's light. And everything in between looked like torment.
He'd never be able to see any of it.
"You're staring at me."
"Is that a bad thing?"
She posed her question flirtatiously, but underneath, she needed an answer.
"Depends on your reason," he muttered, still not facing her directly. His focus was pulled towards each successive stitch.
Vistri didn't want to say the wrong thing. She just wanted to sit there and continue watching the dance of shadows forevermore.
"Well, I can't exactly admit it's because I want to. Can I?"
She hoped his smile was genuine.
"No, I would think that's against the rules."
"So you see now what a conundrum you've put me in?"
"Quite."
"But then if I lie, you might figure it out and tell me to fuck right off."
He suddenly looked sick.
"Astarion?"
"Nothing! I… I thought the thread fell out of the needle again."
His voice sounded louder in the quiet of the sleeping camp.
"But it didn't?"
"No, it didn't."
"Well then," Vistri said warily, "Nothing to fear."
"Nothing to fear," he nodded slowly.
His confirmation had the opposite of its intended effect; sending Vistri's mind racing with everything that were possible to fear.
All of the sudden, she wanted to leave. To be as far away from the pale vampire as possible.
Yet she was frozen in place.
Astarion, still only glancing occasionally at her shadow, missed the expression on Vistri's face, but not her shift in energy. He took it for a festering impatience that grew impossible for her to hide.
"Here we are," he said, quickly tying up the final touch, "All better."
"You've finished?" Vistri asked, snapping out of her spiraling nightmares.
They stood for him to ceremoniously hand over the mended armor. He was eager to show off his work, and his energy was infectious.
"Ta-da!"
"Astarion…"
They were wonderful. He hadn't just mended the one, he'd improved upon both. What he'd done went far beyond what she asked. Whereas the original pattern seemed to be a spattering of triangles, there was now a flight of lightning across them.
"You hate it, don't you?"
"No! That's not…"
She loved what he did. He just did too much.
Vistri had been shorter than her knees when she learned that even the gods didn't answer wishes.
So now she didn't know what to do with the treasure in her hands. The extra thought and effort.
But again, she didn't want to say the wrong thing.
Obligation was her only way through. If she didn't deserve it, and she didn't, then anything extra was a means to an end. Astarion must want something, and she'd have to give it.
She knew he was at least smart enough to not ask for anything beyond her worth, and figured she'd get ahead of his eventual ask.
"I'm just wondering how many hours I'll have to spend on my knees to make up for this," she winked.
"Oh, please! Even I have limits to the level of flattery I'm willing to accept!"
"I really mean it though. These are… actually quite wonderfully done."
"To which we say…?"
Vistri forced herself out of her own way to say, "Thank you."
Astarion took a sardonic bow.
"Enough!" she giggled.
"Let's see how they look on you—Here, I'll help."
Being that they ran the length of elbow-to-wrist and laced up along the sides, it was much more convenient to have someone else do it. Vistri passed them back to Astarion and held out her arms, palms up.
She felt his hands wrap around hers, pulling her closer.
"Not so far away now."
Astarion's voice was almost a whisper, his touch the equivalent. The gentleness of it was a lure, promising an intimacy they'd never earned. One that they could act out as substitute for its lack.
The thrill she felt from his words was dangerous. The swooping in her stomach when he stood so close was a death mark. At least if Vistri was only good for one thing, it was something she'd more than willingly give him.
For some reason, when Astarion stood close it felt different. When he was the one to lock her in a stare with hungry eyes, it wasn't boring and inconvenient. It was…
Quite wonderful, actually.
Unbelievably wonderful!
He placed a band around one of her arms. He then took one finger and slowly traced the length of her forearm down the middle. Vistri couldn't control the tremor it caused. Witnessing it planted an affectionate smirk on Astarion's face.
"Take a look here," he said, his voice grounding her. Humming in her ears as he made faint circles on her wrist, indicating where he meant.
When she looked underneath, she found "Astarion was here" embroidered neatly along the lining. The whimsical addition rested near where her pulse would beat, forcing Vistri to wonder how much thought went into its placement.
She laughed; something a bit ugly, breaking her usual containment. A laugh that Astarion never heard before. Not a titter meant for public consumption, but a sudden collision of shock and genuine glee. The idea that he would claim her sent a parade through Vistri's treacherous heart, and the screeching guffaw she gave was its song.
"No wonder it took you so long!"
"And here I thought we had a nice, little talk about micromanagement," Astarion joked, pride warming his tone.
That small breeze of warmth spilled over Vistri's cup. The whole thing would have been a lot easier to take if he'd suddenly smacked her in the face and stole the armor back. Instead, Astarion's eyes melted in a way that almost confirmed his intent in leaving a signature was some beloved form of possession.
Like eyes meeting the sun too quickly, that possibility burned. The meaning of it too much for Vistri to bear.
If she were someone else, lovable and not put together so wrongly, she might be able to enjoy it. Or maybe if this were just another game of theirs! But for some reason, binding his name to his favor didn't feel like a game. It felt like a part of Astarion himself had been gifted.
Needless to say, he completely misinterpreted the various expressions that played out on Vistri's face.
It was too much. He knew it had been too much. But the way she'd spent the whole night absently staring in his direction made Astarion think it was the perfect addition.
Stupid.
Well… It wasn't as if he cared anyway!
There was no room to. There never was. Anyone he ever cared for was only fit for his master's midnight feast. And even though he was far away from home, the same truths still dictated the course of his undead life. Vistri was a means to an end. Nothing more.
Couldn't be more.
Oddly enough, there was something reassuring in that. It served as a reminder of who he was. And with that reminder, Astarion shook off his thoughts and began tying up the armband.
His fingers, at least, had their intended effect. They brushed against her skin as he worked, setting off little fireworks wherever they touched. A sign that she was all his to use however he wanted.
Unsettlingly enough, he found a thrill there. To have such sway over someone like her. One who could command a room and bend it to her will. Someone who shined brighter than a bouquet of stars, and pushed the barriers of possibility. Astarion could feel his breeches growing a bit tighter. More affirmation of his inherent sickness. His heart was rotten; he was awful.
And yet, Vistri willingly surrendered her lifeblood every night. It was honestly a miracle he hadn't killed her.
Did she even care?
"Show it off for us now," Astarion said once he finished lacing up both armbands.
"Let me rest my arms first!" Vistri laughed, "Oh, they're aching!"
Archer that he was, Astarion forgot holding her arms up for long like that wouldn't be comfortable.
"Don't be so dramatic," he teased, "It's hardly firing a bow!"
Vistri shook out the ache, bringing her circulation back, "Well, I don't fire bows! I cast spells."
It wasn't funny, but they laughed.
"Quit stalling and give us a twirl," Astarion chuckled.
Vistri did as he said, except instead of a twirl, posed her forearms this way and that. The moon wasn't very bright, and the embroidery glistened in their darkvision. Flickering firelight gave it the quality of water.
"You made them even better!"
"You knew I would," he smirked, "It's why you asked."
Vistri returned his smirk with an even more mischievous one, "How do you know it wasn't just to see if you'd do it?"
Astarion clicked his tongue disapprovingly, "You little minx."
Just like that, they were back to their usual games. It was safer in the shallows.
"Admit it," she said, "You were eager to show off."
"That's hardly an observation, darling. I'm always eager to show off."
It wasn't the truth, but they accepted it.
"Here," Vistri said, "Come help me with these. I've a sudden need to get comfortable."
"My, my! You've so many demands tonight!" Astarion said, stepping closer. He rested her forearms against his chest to undo the lacing.
Such closeness was disarming to Vistri, who had been planning to make some clever quip regarding his talents for undressing. It felt too much like being held. Being loved. And because it wasn't a real embrace, Vistri could savor it. Afraid to disturb him, and lose this, she kept silent as one trying not to frighten a bird.
It wasn't until he stepped away that she noticed her arms had been bound, elbow to wrist. Apparently, after he untied her armbands, he laced them back up together.
There was more heat than mirth in his eyes when she met them.
"Do you trust me?"
No. But it was more complicated than that. And from Astarion's tone, Vistri could tell he wasn't literally asking. He was seeking consent to move forward with whatever nasty little thought was on his mind.
Vistri knew she was going to say yes to whatever it was.
Astarion smirked at the display of his power written all over her face.
“Why don’t we take this little party for two into the woods?”
They snuck off together like it was a secret even though everybody already knew.
It was only a stroll through the trees, but Vistri’s heart pounded on her tongue, making her head dizzy. Astarion guided her, gentleman-like by the tips of her fingers; her only tether to the planet. Her trembling pulse revealed such an ugly truth.
“Are you planning to walk until I beg?” she teased.
Astarion sighed. Everywhere felt too exposed, and although it wasn’t likely, Cazador could be creeping behind any tree. Vistri's frantic heartbeat wasn’t helping the matter; sensing it possessed all the hunger in Astarion's mind, body, and soul. He was desperate to devour her in every way possible.
"Next time I tie you up and take you into the woods, remind me to bring a gag."
"Next time?" she flirted, "I like the idea of a next time."
"What? Can't get enough?"
She really couldn't. It was a need, to lose herself in all his appetites. To get away without going away. He was a miraculous refuge. Untrustworthy, charlatan that he was, Astarion could take away the control she never let slip. With his guiding, blessed hands, Vistri could come undone just like the lacing binding her wrists.
"Clearly, I am at your mercy," she answered, gesturing upwards with her bound forearms.
"No, my darling," he purred in his best purr, "I am at yours."
Astarion suddenly pulled her into him by the waist, cradling the side of her face in one hand like it was something precious. Vistri sighed, and he caught the end of it with his lips.
Curious how the feeling was like heaven's gate. Their worries and realities burned away and led them to a baser truth. Towards ache. And reward.
"My heart is yours for the night," Vistri said as his mouth left hers.
"Just your heart?"
"All of me."
This was all fine to say because it came after a kiss. Signifying the start of their new favorite pastime. A duel of pretty lies.
Damn it all to hell! They were still too exposed where they stood, and surrounded by ground that wouldn't be comfortable to sit on let alone… well…
But it didn't matter anymore! The only thing that existed now was the beginning of their games. Their kiss opened the floodgates, and everything they held back from in the day spilled out into the night.
Astarion gently planted a series of slow kisses along her jawline, a tease of a touch. As his hand slipped away from her cheek, it met the base of her throat.
"All of you?" he asked, seeking permission to drink.
"Yes," Vistri surrendered through another sigh.
Nipping her neck would be the most obvious way, but Astarion didn't want to come off as boring. Vistri had a quite… varied and interesting roster of past lovers, and he couldn't stand to be placed anywhere less than at the very top of that list.
The thing is, he already was. Not because of any technique or creativity on his part, although that didn't hurt, but because it was him. And Astarion was… Although, Vistri would rather die than tell him so. At least not without pretending it was a lie.
He pushed her against the nearest tree and pinned her wrists above her head. Vistri smiled at him, her heart singing a different anticipatory song than the one before. It made Astarion wish he were more than just a bloodsucking fiend.
She tossed her head to the side, inviting him to bite her neck. He leaned forward, but kissed it instead. The switch-up turned Vistri's exhale into a gasp.
Again and again, Astarion kissed her neck, refusing to bite down until the refusal drove them both mad. He was curious to see who would be most affected by his denial.
That happened to be one thing Vistri was willing to communicate. Clear affirmation of desire was what every lover wanted, but this time she wasn't pretending. The fact it had always been a lie before made it possible for her to express now that it was finally true. Vistri could give Astarion exactly what he wanted, and this time it was exactly what she wanted too.
Every subsequent kiss elicited more huffing and squirming. The sounds coming from Vistri's throat made Astarion blush even though he was the cause.
Feeling like he won something, Astarion ceased his torture and took her mouth in his. Her tongue was velvet ice, like the silver scales crowning her brow.
"You taste like a dragon."
"I don't care," she said mindlessly; clearly under his spell.
Hands shaking with the need for blood began to gently lift up her robes. Astarion knelt, resolved to finally provide them both with some relief.
"Keep your hands high above your head, darling," he commanded against her thigh.
Vistri could feel her blood rushing as if it were eager to meet his tongue down above her knees. Yet she was determined to keep her wrists firmly in place as he asked, and refused to pass out, because it was the only way she could prove her devotion.
Lips warm on her thigh slipped away, revealing knife-like fangs. Astarion trailed them lightly along her inner mid-thigh, making pleasant shivers swim through their bodies like rivers. When they pierced Vistri's skin, just enough to draw blood, it was like an arrow piercing her heart. A struggled groan sounded at the base of Astarion's throat as he set his tongue over those two weeping dots. Vistri cried out as he drank. The lighter her head became, the more she pushed her arms into the tree, determined not to move an inch.
They were both very aware of the part of him that didn't want to pull away. His hunger for blood could never be sated. He could even leave nothing left of her and it still wouldn't be enough. Yet Astarion stopped after just a few swallows. Vistri wasn't used to anyone who considered the cost of taking—and those others all had satiable appetites! Yes, Astarion was a vampire, but he was the safest monster she'd ever known.
His hands creeped up to her waist, as if to steady himself. Without looking up at her, he placed his forehead against her pelvic bone for a brief respite.
"I must have you," was all he said.
"You have me."
When he lifted his head, Vistri found his pupils to be large as planets, like a wild cat's eyes—with that same feral quality, like there was too much life in them to contain. The power that now flowed through him was so evident, like sparks at the birth of a fire. He had all the terrifying beauty of a destructive storm.
Astarion expected to see fear etched somewhere in her expression, but instead was met with something else he couldn't yet name. It looked quite like wonder, but wasn't as alienating. Instead of turning him into a very specific dream, her look planted them on equal footing. A freak witnessing another freak, eager to see every side he had to show.
And her wrists were exactly where he'd left them, raised above her head. The effort it took was evident by her lack of color.
There wasn't enough time to examine why seeing them there pulled at his dead heart. He just stood and took hold of her arms. Immediately, Vistri relinquished all the strength she had left completely over to his grip. Being able to finally let go brought such relief, tears almost came with it.
Gradually, he moved her arms. Careful not to bring them down too fast.
He'd asked for it on a whim, and she treated it like a promise. Through discomfort and even pain, she fought to fulfill it. Despite proving over and over that he wasn't worthy of anything but decay, Vistri made sacrifices in his name.
"What a dear you are," he practically whispered, "Doing exactly as I say."
Vistri's answering moan had nothing to do with touch. She could tell from the quiet struggle in his tone that Astarion had seen what she wanted to prove. His appreciation for it was more real than, I love you.
Their mouths clashed, seeking each other with shared desperation. His hands massaged the feeling back into her arms as their tongues tussled. Vistri could almost delude herself into thinking she was more than a body to use, the intensity of his kiss and the consideration he gave were a convincing portrait of love.
The only love he was likely to give ground hard against the only love she was capable of giving. A wet heat grew brighter between them with every thrust of their hips until it broke the barriers of sensation and materialized through their clothes.
"Please," she begged.
"Not yet."
He buried any further protest with his mouth. Astarion wasn't ready to let go of this exact moment and wanted to hold onto it as long as he could. To feel a real desire that was all his, not even a drop of it something Cazador had any claim to. Vistri's blood, her body, her will… all of it was his, not Cazador's.
At least until the sun came up, when she no longer belonged to him. But damn the sun! It could stay underground. He wasn't ready to give this up, to desire and be desired back so deliciously. Instead, he longed to push it to its limits.
"Gods, how I want you."
"Then take me."
"Not yet."
Giddiness seemed like a weird reaction to have, but Vistri felt like she could laugh. His denial in spite of their clear wishes was more than a sweet torture. It allowed her to savor the depths of her need because it turned her into something to be savored. She could wear her heart on her lips only because Astarion wanted to taste it.
If her arms were not bound, they would fly around him. Instead, the need to hold him simmered through her searching fingers. With the tips of them, she pulled at the base of his shirt.
Trailed her palms along his thigh.
Met the solid rock between them.
Astarion took her roaming hands in his, "I think I'd prefer for you to stay absolutely still."
His words took them both by surprise. Vistri had no idea what he had in store. Astarion didn't either; he was making it up as he went along.
Once more, he lifted her robes. Stepping between her legs, he could feel the tremble in her thighs from anticipation alone. Trembling too, he pulled himself free of his trousers.
Blast it!
The need to be interesting clashed horribly with how close Astarion held his throbbing member to her equally throbbing… Blast!
Astarion shook his head to clear it as his other mindless one almost nestled into Vistri. He held it just out of reach, the kind of closeness that created an illusion of touch. The sliver of air between them was soaking…
All Vistri had to do was slide her hips a little forward, but she didn't. Strangling every urge, she kept as still as he'd asked.
"I want you terribly so," he moaned.
Yet he didn't move. Neither did she.
"Me too," was all she could say, reduced as she was.
"Vistri…" he moaned again.
His hand began moving up-and-down under her robes.
The realization he was touching himself dawned over Vistri like the sun. She felt she would dissolve if he didn't fuck her soon, but it was so much better that he didn't.
Face to face, Astarion allowed her to witness every sensation as he felt it. Completely unguarded. The forest seemed silent because their focus was so narrow; his breathing loud in their ears.
He kept repeating her name as an intermittent whine. The muscles in his face tensed in various ways and twitched occasionally. None of his expressions were prettied up, it wasn't a show but something shared between them. Vistri was so wet that her slick pooled. A string of it reached across the space between them and landed on his hot skin. Still, she fought not to move an inch.
His nostrils began to flare with the staccato of his increasingly heavy breath. Vistri could feel his pleasure building through the sight and sound of him as if it were her own. The glaze in Astarion's eyes as he got near completion made it feel as if she were reaching completion herself. As his body shook, and she felt a hot wetness splash her thigh, an answering pulsation ran through her middle, making her cry out.
Except instead of release, an even more ferocious hunger screamed through Vistri's skin.
Panting, Astarion rested his head against her chest. He couldn't remember being so turned on in 200 years. He had Vistri in such an undeniable state, and yet she wouldn't move at all without his command. She wouldn't take what was in front of her, and something about that was blindingly fantastic.
Vistri planted a kiss on his forehead, and then unable to stop herself, licked the sweat from his brow.
"You little freak," he smirked happily.
"Oh shit—I moved..."
"Ah, that's right. I don't recall telling you to stop. But you just couldn't help it, could you?"
She shook her head.
"And you were doing such a good job of it before…" he clicked his tongue.
Trailing a hand up her unsoiled thigh, Vistri's breath came through as a shudder. Just one slight tease of a stroke along her cunt was enough to drench his fingertips. He slipped one inside, and his eyes rolled back at her receptiveness.
"Please," she groaned.
"Move if you must," he answered.
Vistri dissolved in his hands like melted sugar. He could bring her to orgasm with just a suggestion, and yet she hadn't moved a muscle when it counted. The way she wouldn't dare touch him despite her suffering drove him madder than bloodlust.
Astarion dropped to his knees, kissing between her legs as fiercely as he had above. Needing every part of her, he licked his fingers as they stroked her. Sensing her climax just beyond his tongue, he enticed it with a growl. It came as bidden.
Her fingers clutched at his hair despite their limited movement. The woods went quiet at the sound of her cries, as if nature bent its ear to listen.
The sensation snatched the sight from the back of her eyes, but it still wasn't enough. Knees too weak to stand, Vistri met him near the ground where they tore at each other with kiss after kiss. They eventually rolled over the tangled root system, ignoring the jabs that bruised them. Until—
"Ah!" Astarion exclaimed at one point.
"What?"
"These damned roots keep trying to bugger me!"
"Oh that was the roots? I thought you had a finger up my bum."
They laughed and ran over to more forgiving ground.
When Astarion was ready again, he threw Vistri's legs against her chest and sunk into her. Their shouts echoed and died among the surrounding canopy of leaves. Now they'd indulged in their prolonged desire, they sought to drive each other over the peak as many times as possible before sunrise.
Because once the sun rose, they would have to stop. And this was the only way they knew how to belong to each other.
v---v v---v v---v v---v v---v
As with every morning after, Vistri stirred from the loss of Astarion at her side. The heat of the night before was buried by the following day, and the whole world went cold.
Astarion wasn't gone, per say. He was just awake, standing to bask in the light. Vistri wasn't fluttering out of trance in his arms, but she also wasn't finding herself alone in a completely abandoned room. Which was more than other lovers were able to say.
Seeing him standing there with his eyes closed made Vistri want to jump up to join him, but last night was already over. Although her arms were no longer bound, other invisible restraints kept her from throwing her arms around Astarion.
While his eyes were contentedly shut, they were still very aware.
“Good morning,” he greeted without opening them.
Vistri smirked, "Late to bed; early to rise?"
When Astarion opened his eyes, the expression Vistri hoped to see in them again was gone; buried beneath a thin, translucent layer, but she managed to miss it anyway. All she could see was the empty surface.
“I recall the dark lightening to dawn before we stopped,” he joked.
Laughing, Vistri teased, "I guess we'll have to update Wyll."
"What in the blazes does Wyll have to do with anything?"
"You don't remember? He asked if you could go all night, and you did."
"Well, there's a first time for everything."
At least laughing together could remain the same. And a bit of flirting here and there didn't hurt either.
Vistri walked over, smirking. She got close enough to whisper into his ear.
“You made my thighs shiver in ways I didn’t know were possible.”
Astarion turned towards her just enough for his cheek to brush against hers, smelling her breath as it permeated the air around them. It was overwhelmingly Vistri and made every part of him stiffen.
“Nasty little tease, you are.”
"I know! I know!" she backed away, "Off to camp!"
Astarion started to get dressed, “Another unholy day ahead of us!”
Vistri felt something shatter. She didn’t want to go back to camp and the road. She wanted to be bound again. For it to stay last night forever.
“You belong to me,” he'd said, holding her tied wrists, “Nothing else exists but you and I, and you’re all mine.”
She blinked back the recent memory of his words as they stung in her throat. Her bones were heavy, but she got dressed despite them. Vistri shouldn’t want to belong to anyone, especially not a rakish vampire spawn whose baggage seemed to be made of the same material as hers.
"Thank you again for these," she said to keep from crying.
"What?"
Vistri held up the armbands he mended.
"Oh, right… You don't have to keep thanking me."
"Then I won't."
Some truths, they were only able to face under moonlight.
Still working on that one shot draft from last week! I've finally gotten to the prompted arm restraint smut ❤️🔥
Once finished, I'll post this as part of my other Kinktober one shots 🥰
[Act I, post-Grove. This one is arm restraint smut based on Plato's "The Cave", but BG3. Astarion has just fixed the embroidery on some forearm armor Vistri found]
18+, Explicit!!!
[tw/cw: self-loathing, ptsd, arm restraint kink, bdsm, vampire blood drinking]
"The Cave" (continued)
"You made them even better!"
"You knew I would," he smirked, "It's why you asked."
Vistri returned his smirk with an even more mischievous one, "How do you know it wasn't just to see if you'd do it?"
Astarion clicked his tongue disapprovingly, "You little minx."
Just like that, they were back to their usual games. It was safer in the shallows.
"Admit it," she said, "You were eager to show off."
"That's hardly an observation, darling. I'm always eager to show off."
It wasn't the truth, but they accepted it.
"Here," Vistri said, "Come help me with these. I've a sudden need to get comfortable."
"My, my! You've so many demands tonight," Astarion said, stepping closer. He rested her forearms against his chest to undo the lacing.
Such closeness was disarming to Vistri, who had been planning to make some clever quip regarding his talents at undressing her. It felt like being held. Being loved. And because it wasn't a real embrace, she could savor it. Afraid to disturb him, and lose this, Vistri kept silent as one trying not to frighten a bird.
It wasn't until he stepped away that she noticed her arms were bound, elbow to wrist. Once he untied the armbands, he'd laced them back up together.
There was more heat than mirth in his eyes when she met them.
"Do you trust me?"
No. But it was more complicated than that. And from Astarion's tone, Vistri could tell he wasn't literally asking. He was seeking consent to move forward with whatever nasty little thought was on his mind.
Vistri knew she was going to say yes to whatever it was.
Astarion smirked at the display of his power written all over her face.
“Why don’t we take this little party for two into the woods?”
They snuck off together like it was a secret even though everybody already knew.
It was only a stroll through the trees, but Vistri’s heart pounded on her tongue, making her head dizzy. Astarion guided her, gentleman-like by the tips of her fingers; her only tether to the planet. Her trembling pulse revealed such an ugly truth.
“Are you planning to walk until I beg?” she teased.
Astarion sighed. Everywhere felt too exposed, and although it wasn’t likely, Cazador could be creeping behind any tree. Vistri's frantic heartbeat wasn’t helping the matter; sensing it possessed all the hunger in Astarion's mind, body, and soul. He was desperate to devour her in every way possible.
"Next time I tie you up and take you into the woods, remind me to bring a gag."
"Next time?" she flirted, "I like the idea of a next time."
"What? Can't get enough?"
She really couldn't. It was a need, to lose herself in all his appetites. To get away without going away. He was a miraculous refuge. Untrustworthy, charlatan that he was, Astarion could take away the control she never let slip. With his guiding, blessed hands, Vistri could come undone just like the lacing binding her wrists.
"Clearly, I am at your mercy," she answered, gesturing upwards with her bound forearms.
"No, my darling," he purred in his best purr, "I am at yours."
Astarion suddenly pulled her into him by the waist, cradling the side of her face in his other hand like it was something precious. Vistri sighed, and he caught the end of it with his lips.
Curious how the feeling was like heaven's gate. Their worries and realities burned away and led them to a baser truth. Towards ache. And reward.
"My heart is yours for the night," Vistri said as his mouth left hers.
"Just your heart?"
"All of me."
This was all fine to say because it came after a kiss. Signifying the start of their new favorite pastime. A duel of pretty lies.
Damn it all to hell! They were still too exposed where they stood, and surrounded by ground that wouldn't be comfortable to sit on let alone… well…
But it didn't matter anymore. The only thing that existed now was the beginning of their game. Their kiss opened the floodgates, and everything they held back from in the day spilled out into the night.
Astarion gently planted a series of slow kisses along her jawline, a tease of a touch. His hand slipped away from her cheek and met the base of her throat.
"All of you?" he asked, seeking permission to drink.
"Yes," Vistri surrendered through another sigh.
Nipping her neck would be the most obvious way, but Astarion didn't want to come off as boring. Vistri had a quite… varied and interesting roster of past lovers, and he couldn't stand to be placed anywhere less than at the very top of that list.
The thing is, he already was. Not because of any technique or creativity on his part, although that didn't hurt, but because he was the one who did it. Although, Vistri would rather die than tell him so. At least not without pretending it was a lie.
He pushed her against the nearest tree and pinned her wrists above her head. Vistri smiled at him, her heart singing a different anticipatory song than the one before. It made Astarion wish he were more than just a bloodsucking fiend.
She tossed her head to the side, inviting him to bite her neck. He leaned forward, but kissed it instead. The switch-up turned Vistri's exhale into a gasp.
Again and again, Astarion kissed her neck, refusing to bite down until the refusal drove them both mad. He was curious to see who would be most affected by his denial.
That happened to be one thing Vistri was willing to communicate. Clear affirmation of desire was what every lover wanted, but this time she wasn't pretending. The fact it had always been a lie before made it possible for her to express now that it was finally true. Vistri could give Astarion exactly what he wanted, and this time doing so was an indulgence rather than a chore.
She huffed and squirmed more with every kiss. The sounds coming from her throat made Astarion blush even though he was the cause.
Feeling like he won something, Astarion ceased his torture and took her mouth in his. Her tongue was velvet ice, like the silver scales crowning her brow.
"You taste like a dragon."
"I don't care," she said mindlessly; clearly under his spell.
Hands shaking with the need for blood began to gently lift up her robes. Astarion knelt, resolved to finally provide them both with some relief.
"Keep your hands high above your head, darling," he commanded into her thigh.
Vistri could already feel her blood rushing as if it were eager to meet his tongue down above her knees. Yet she would keep her wrists firmly in place, and refuse to pass out, because it was the only way she could prove her devotion.
A pleasant shiver ran through them both when Astarion finally bit into her inner mid-thigh. Vistri cried out as he drank. The lighter her head became, the more she pushed her arms into the tree, determined not to move an inch.
His pupils were so large when he stopped, they looked like wild cat's eyes. With that same feral quality, like they held too much life in them to contain.
He reached up and held onto her waist, resting his forehead for a brief respite against her pelvis.
"I must have you," was all he said.
"You have me."
(I just need to finish/edit the smut and the ending bits! It's almost ready to post!)
This is from a one shot that's part of my Kinktober collection
"The Cave"
“Ugh, jus’ leave it, Vis,” Karlach groaned.
The cave dripped with echoes and stalactites; its wet air swallowing Karlach’s booming voice within layers of soft stone. Her frustration burned hot enough to cast dancing shadows across the others’ faces.
She spoke directly to Vistri’s wriggling butt. There was something shiny she’d spotted behind a spiderweb that Vistri just had to have. Karlach almost regretted mentioning it.
“Hang on,” Vistri said with reaching effort.
Astarion sighed, “You know just how she has to get her hands on everything. We’ll get out of here faster if we don’t argue.”
Gale shot an eyebrow over at Astarion, “You’d know that, wouldn’t you?”
Karlach threw her head back and howled. Her laughter shook the cave.
“Do you want to get us all killed?” Gale shushed her urgently.
“Spiders are fucked mate. We’re the only ones left.”
“We don’t know that for sure though, and I’d rather not be taken by surprise.”
“Astarion, darling?” Vistri called, still a floating butt to the three of them, “Do me a favor and hold my bum? If I could reach just a little further…”
Gale wiggled his brows again, “Go on, Astarion. The bum awaits!”
“Grab her bum!” Karlach chanted, “Grab her bum!”
He rolled his eyes at them before walking over to take hold of her hips.
“Aaaaay!” Karlach and Gale cheered.
Astarion pouted, standing behind her. There was no way to steady her that wasn’t suggestive.
“Now, really!”
The other two were losing it.
“Ah HAH!” Vistri cried out triumphantly.
She shot up so fast, and so completely covered in spiderweb, that webbing splattered all over Astarion.
He spat, “Augh! That went inside my mouth!”
“Worth it!” Vistri said, showing everyone her prize: Forearm wraps that were embroidered all over with silver thread. They were made of a hard, dark leather and laced up along the sides.
“Oh, those are quite lovely,” Gale commented, stepping closer.
“No!” Vistri pulled them back, “I won’t let you eat these!”
“I wasn’t!—I wasn’t going to eat them. And I don’t eat magical items, I absorb them.”
“These aren’t magical anyway, they’re just pretty.”
Gale sighed, “I wasn’t…”
Astarion grinned, “Not as pretty as you, my dear.”
Vistri flipped one of her braids, “Aw, stop!”
Karlach frowned, “Eugh, they’re being all mushy again! Gale, tell them to stop. It’s too much cuteness, I can’t take it.”
“Why do I have to tell them to stop?”
“Cuz you’re like a dad.”
“I’m not—“
“You are!” Vistri laughed, “You’re just like someone’s dad.”
“Not the Daddy vibes you hoped to give off, eh?” Astarion teased.
Needless to say, Gale pouted the whole way back to camp.
When they got there, Karlach announced, “Gale is everyone’s dad!”
“Oggy! Oggy! Oggy!” Wyll chanted.
Karlach pumped her fist in the air, and Gale had to duck as she shouted back, “Oi! Oi! Oi!”
Astarion noticed the way Vistri made a beeline for Shadowheart. He watched them chat as he “tidied up” his tent area.
“You’ll never guess what I found inside of a spider web,” she said as the others fussed over Gale.
Shadowheart raised a brow, “Lolth’s chosen?”
“No, and how dare you,” she brought the armor out from her pack, “I found these beautiful things.”
She didn’t look too impressed.
“They’re… Nice.”
Vistri narrowed her eyes, “Well, thank goodness they’re not for you.”
Astarion watched her leave to show off her new find to Lae’zel, and then Wyll and even Halsin. She started to walk towards Withers but seemed to think better of it halfway and doubled-back to him.
“It’s because of the undead thing, isn’t it?” Astarion smirked as Vistri approached him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Right. Do you sew?”
“What?”
Vistri held up one of the arm bands, “The thread is loose here. Look!”
Astarion smirked, “Are you asking me to fix it?”
She rolled her eyes, “No.”
“It seems to me that your new treasure is soiled and I’m the only one you trust to mend it.”
“That isn’t un-true.”
“So you’re asking me to fix it?”
“No, silly!” Vistri looked into his eyes, “You’re going to offer.”
Insolence was the word that came to mind. Her blinking grin said, I have a need you’re lucky enough to fulfill, but her eyes were not so sure. There was something weak in them, like slipping fingers. They were on a precipice that hung on his answer, Was she worth it?
“Would you like me to fix it?”
Vistri smiled warmly. It reached her eyes, “Oh, darling! How kind of you! Of course.”
She shoved the object into his hands. He didn’t let her go just yet.
“Say thank you,” he demanded softly.
Vistri held her breath, her eyes grazed over his lips.
