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The Little Things

Summary: Sometime in Act 1, Astarion is beginning to realize he may like you more than he thought.

Tags/Warnings: pure fluff, feelings realization, sexual innuendo, in game spoilers

Astarion’s nice, simple plan is falling apart at the seams. He isn’t quite sure when it began or how you slowly wormed your way into his heart like the parasite wormed its way into his brain.

He thinks it must have started shortly after the night you two spent together in the clearing. Perhaps the day you drew his scars for him in the dirt?

You notice the little things about him, and it flusters him entirely. No one else has ever bothered to pay attention long enough to catch all the subtleties you seem to see without missing a beat.

You notice he makes tea but never drinks it. It tastes like dirty water on his vampiric tongue, but he loves the smell and the warmth. One day you bring him a cup of tea and urge him to try it.

“This one will be different, I promise.” You say, and you smile at him so sweetly it’s impossible to refuse.

He quirks a brow but obliges. One small sip reveals that this tea is palatable… in fact, it’s actually enjoyable.

“What’s in this? Better not be a sore attempt at poisoning me.” He murmurs with a playful smirk before taking another long sip of the warm liquid.

You grin and show him your finger, where the smallest pinprick can be seen.

Blood. Of course.

His face feels hot, like patches of warmth are spreading across his cheeks. It must be the tea.

“Clever pup,” He chuckles, “I— thank you.”

One day you’re simply walking by him in camp, returning from a quick foraging trip in the woods. He’s perched upon a stool, reading a book, and drinking the remnants of his morning tea you’d brought to him just over an hour ago.

It’s a lovely little treat every morning. He’s secretly delighted every time you bring it by.

You pause and smile, “Enjoying your book?”

He hums a soft yes and dog ears the page before clasping it shut to acknowledge you.

“Quite, darling. And you? Enjoying your… digging in the mud?” He asks, cocking his head just slightly as he examines the small basket of potatoes you’d procured from the earth.

“It’s not so bad,” You laugh, and then your eyes flicker to his book, “Oh, I almost forgot.”

You rustle through your bag and withdraw a thin strip of burgundy fabric, offering it to him.

Astarion takes the gift. It’s a bookmark. There’s a delicate letter A stitched in gold thread at the top of the small trinket. He’d spent a few hours last week showing you how to sew and embroider little details.

“I noticed you always fold the corners of the pages, and Gale is always grumbling about it when you return his books, so…” You shrug and smile again, “Plus, it’s a small thank you. For the sewing lessons.”

His face feels hot again. It must be the tea. Again.

“Ah, yes. I shall be sure to use it now, then. Don’t want to risk angering the wizard and getting us all blown up!” He jokes as he places the bookmark atop his book, mostly as an excuse to break away from your gaze, which is causing him to feel flustered. He doesn’t know why.

You laugh softly and step closer to him, “It’s not as good as your work.”

You absentmindedly take his hand and turn it, revealing the inner sleeve of his shirt. Your fingers trace along the cuff, admiring a piece of his own embroidery he’d done a few days ago.

“I saw you stitched these little flowers on your shirt the other day. Can you show me how to do that?” You ask, bringing your eyes back up to meet his.

He swallows. Your hand is still resting upon his wrist.

“O-of course, darling. Anytime.” He responds, still thrown. How had you noticed that? His skin tingles from where your fingers had grazed against him.

But it isn’t a bad sensation. He quite liked it, actually.

You grin and then hoist your basket back up before bidding goodbye and walking over to show Gale your harvest. Astarion is left befuddled and simply staring as you walk away.

That same night you’re by the campfire, and Astarion is showing you how to stitch small flowers on a scrap of cloth. You’re leaning over his shoulder, watching his work intently. The proximity is making his fingers fumble more than they usually would, but you don’t seem to notice.

“You filed your nails today,” You remark, absently, as you watch his skilled fingers work their creative magic.

He blinks and pauses mid-stitch.

His nails? You noticed the length of his nails?

“I wasn’t aware they were so obscenely long that it would be so obvious.” He responds, his nose wrinkling just slightly. Perhaps his standards of cleanliness and appearance had fallen in the wilds.

“Oh, it’s not that,” You reply, your tone almost dreamy as you continue to observe the rogue, “I just look at your hands a lot.”

Astarion’s finger slips and he pierces himself with the needle. He winces slightly as he withdraws the sliver from his hand.

“I— what?” He asks, pausing his work to assess you with wide, blinking eyes.

You hadn’t meant to say that last part aloud. You’d been entranced and disarmed by the steady rhythm of his hands and the smell of Astarion’s freshly washed skin.

He’d started a new bar of soap today. You could tell because he smelled different when he returned from the river. You’d complimented the new fragrance and he’d stared at you for a moment too long, eyebrows furrowed. You worried you’d somehow offended him. And then he laughed and made some innuendo-filled joke about cleanliness being next to godliness.

He’s waiting for you to respond, the metal sliver of a needle held at rest between his thumb and forefinger.

“I…” You start, and you feel a blush creep across your face, “You have pretty hands.”

You finish the statement lamely and with a small shrug.

One, two, three beats of silence.

Astarion’s scarlet eyes are staring into your own; he’s thinking… deeply.

Before you process what’s happening, the rogue has already abandoned his project in the dirt and brought both his hands to cup your face, plunging forward to press a kiss against your lips. His tongue slides into your mouth, urgently dancing against your own.

You two hadn’t been physical since the night of the Tiefling party. He hadn’t propositioned you again, and you were far too nervous to attempt propositioning him. You are entirely caught off guard by his advances but eagerly receive his affections anyway.

When Astarion finally breaks away from you, his face is hot. He knows it isn’t the tea this time.

He wants to show you what else he can do with his pretty hands.

mark scout finding out the only reason gemma is alive is because mark s and helly r can't keep their hands off each other hehe

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