Hand, Hearth, and Home
Chapter 85 - Drowned Out
Chapter Summary: Halsin's confession turns into a much-needed heart to heart. The ambush by Astarion's siblings leaves both him and Church reeling. The Mother makes a deal.
Pairing: Astarion x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 447K+ words; Chapters 85/?? (Master Post)
https://archiveofourown.org/works/51849265/chapters/158139145
Excerpt below:
Even as Church considers reaching for him, Astarion’s words twist inside of him still.
“Don’t look at me like that! With the sweet little ‘disappointed I’m not getting cuddly Astarion’ pout,” he spat mockingly after the tiefling’s intervention. “I can’t take it. I can’t be who you want to see in me.”
But don’t you understand? Church wanted to exclaim. I love you as you are!
The floorboards creak loudly with one of Church’s footfalls, and Astarion’s head whips around, eyes and dagger glinting. But the tiefling doesn’t even raise his hands as he leans against the doorway, gazing at his lover.
He aches seeing how beautiful he is, even among shadows.
Church shakes himself, clearing his throat.
“The others have settled down for the most part,” he says softly. “Gale’s set up wards. Karlach’s on watch. We should at least get a warning before any other… unwanted visits.”
Astarion hums blithely.
“Lovely!” he says with a flippant sneer. “So, why are you here?”
Church’s breath catches slightly in his throat.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugs. “I just wondered where you went. Wanted to check on you.”
“I’m fine,” Astarion says through his teeth.
He’s not. Church knows he’s not.
“Astarion, I…”
Church finally realizes why Astarion looks particularly pale and haggard now. “Gods, you’re still covered in blood!”
Splattered and streaked with browns and reds, Astarion hums, plucking at his encrusted shirt. “So I am. Just another night in Baldur’s Gate!”
Church fights back a laugh, shaking his head. As much as Astarion extolled the joys of gushing blood, Church knows he has too many memories of being covered in it — along with other filth. And he remembers seeing how Astarion relaxed after even the freezing cleanse of the river as they traveled…
“Come with me?” Church entreats him, a loose plan forming in his head.
Astarion hesitates.
“Why?” he asks suspiciously. “What for?”
“I… I would like to draw you a bath, if that’s alright?” Church offers.
Astarion glances down at his blood-encrusted self.
“That bad, is it?” he drawls.
There’s no point sugar-coating it.
“Look, you’re filthy, and I know you hate that,” Church shrugs a little. “I had to listen to you going on about missing baths for weeks in the wilderness, so I figured you’d want to make up for lost time.”
“It’s certainly been missed,” Astarion replies airily. “Alright. You’ve made your point.”
The vampire spawn then pitches his voice low, “Does the sight of gore not get your blood pumping anymore?”
Church scoffs a laugh, rolling his eyes.
“I’ll get the water running,” he says dryly.
He beckons Astarion to follow him over to the copper bathtub. But to his surprise — despite the tension earlier — the elf’s hand reaches out to catch his. Church shoots him a smile, lacing their fingers together for the short distance to the tub.
Once there, he uses prestidigitation to rid it of dust before running the bath for the listless spawn. As the hot water fills the tub, Astarion’s demeanor slowly begins to thaw, throwing sly jokes at Church’s nerves. As he crouches, he can practically feel the elf’s eyes roaming over his back and the trousers tight over his ass.
Church can’t help but preen a bit.
“I can feel you looking,” he huffs in feigned disapproval.
“It’s a nice view,” Astarion drawls back.
Church shoots a coy glance over his shoulder, his tail swishing.
“...I know,” he smirks.
When the tub has been filled, Church turns off the water with a satisfied hum before standing.
“Alright,” he announces, turning towards Astarion and flourishing a bow. “The bath is ready, Master Astarion.”
“Hmm,” Astarion gazes down at him with a hungry smile spreading across his face. “I like the sound of that.”
Church’s face heats and he laughs a bit, turning away to give him privacy.
“I — I’ll just be on the other side of the screen,” he stammers.
“What’re you doing?” Astarion asks, bemused.
“Giving you some privacy,” Church explains sheepishly. “While you, ah, get…”
“Undressed?” Astarion smirks, drifting close to him. “Disrobed? Stripped? Naked?” He lowers his voice into a shoddy imitation of Halsin. “As nature intended?”
Church blushes deeper, choking on a laugh as he pushes his chest away.
“Yes, that,” he grins.
“Why?” Astarion tilts his head. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Well,” he smirks, “not nothing I suppose.”
Church glances vaguely towards the door and windows, praying to whatever god will listen that no one will disturb them again tonight.
“…if you’re sure. If you’re alright with it,” he says slowly.
“Darling,” Astarion smirks, reaching slowly for the front of his trousers. “I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of a show.”
Church blushes deeper, unable to stop his eyes from following his hands. The interest is there, of course, but rather than hunger or lust all he feels is… relief. Relief Astarion is still with them and not dragged off to disappear into a burst of bloody mist. He’s here, safe, and not back in that wretched palace.
He’s here sitting in the tub before Church as he gently sponges at himself, removing the other spawns’ blood that had run down his shirt during the fight.
Church does leave momentarily to retrieve Astarion’s personal soap and a book to read, but he hurries back, relieved to see the elf still there. He sits in a nearby chair, reading a book on necromancy Gale must have left here at some point.
What are you thinking about? Church wonders at Astarion’s strange silence.
What are you going to do?
We’re not safe here after all.
Church should have known better. As cushy as their camp is, the inn is a public place. Anyone — a bouncer, a drunkard — could invite a vampire spawn in. How else would they have stolen away so many victims here?
He was, once again, a fool.
“Do you think I’m cruel?” Astarion asks him suddenly.
Thrown by the question, Church still takes a moment to mull over it.
“Sometimes,” he admits. “But… I can be too.”
His shadow self didn’t come from a vacuum, after all.
“Do you think I’m selfish? A self-serving liar?” Astarion flourishes a hand, flicking away water. “Blind to the needs of others?”
Church has already lost his position on the page. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Just curious,” Astarion shrugs.
“No,” Church says emphatically.
“Oh but that’s where you’re wrong, my love,” Astarion corrects him easily with a cheerless grin. “I am all of those things. And I’m not sorry for who I am.”
His gaze meets Church’s, and from there the conversation sours.
“Well, you’re a survivor,” Church shrugs. “It comes with the territory.”
Astarion barks a derisive laugh.
“This camp,” he gestures vaguely towards the door. “This sundry of all of Faerûn — we’re all survivors. None of us are special in the face of horrible, imminent death. And yet…” he smiles bitterly. “Of all your options of beautiful, virile people with sanctimonious morals far closer to yours… you chose me.
“You even refused Halsin!” he scoffs. “He agrees with everything you do. And he was perfectly happy to share, giving you everything I couldn’t—”
“But would you be?” Church interjects. “Would you really be happy about it?”
Astarion scowls. “Of course, didn’t I tell you as much afterwards?”
“Of course you did,” Church says, softly. “But it’s not like you would have told me otherwise.”
“As you very well know, I have no reservations telling you what I think…”
“Yes, your commentary has always been so very supportive,” Church says sarcastically. “But no matter how much you’ve disapproved of my decisions, no matter how much you’ve bitched and complained; you’ve never actually said ‘no’ to anything I have ever asked of you.”
Astarion makes a face. “...that can’t be right.”
“Anyway, maybe I don’t want to be ‘shared,’” Church goes on peevishly. “Maybe, after all this time, of all the people I’ve met in Faerûn, I want to be with you, and you alone. Just like this.” He gestures with his book at Astarion in the bath. “Is that not enough for you?”
Astarion doesn’t answer him. He goes quiet, letting the only sound in the room be the sloshing of water with his subtle movements.
At some point, the tense silence proves too much. Church gives up and closes his book, setting it carefully aside.
“You're missing the entirety of your back,” he points out to the spawn. With the blood that had stained Astarion’s pale skin, the raised infernal script is spelled out in sharp relief.
“What am I supposed to do?” Astarion retorts. “Look in the mirror?”
Church winces.
“Would it be alright if I…?” he stammers. “Can I…?”
Astarion raises an expectant eyebrow.
“Can I help you?” Church finally offers.
“Can you? I suppose you can.”
“Astarion.”
“Yes,” Astarion sighs. He smiles softly, gratefully back at him. “Yes. I’d like that. Please do.”
