It relies on the idea that Albedo is sort of robotic, like he only does things that are logical and beneficial, and one of those things is pursuing Kaeya.
Different people take on a partner for different reasons, permanent companionship, to have children, if they come from a similar background/culture, financial, etc.
As far as Albedo is aware, this would benefit him and out of everyone, there is one person who makes the most sense to pursue: Kaeya
He doesn't need to worry about birthing children, after all he is a homunculus so that is not something that needs to be considered. They have a similar enough background, relatively similar finances, plus the Ragnvinder's wealth (bc Diluc would help is brother out if he needed it). Having someone you can rely closely to is also important in their field of work.
So of course, Albedo pursues him. He often goes to the library to read about normal human behavior, which is why he decided to pursue this in the first place. That's also where he gets all of his "how to get a partner ideas" from
So he asks Kaeya out at some random moment (tavern in front of Diluc or in the middle of the KoF would be lovely) and in the most neutral, monotone way like it's some business transaction.
Kaeya obviously says yes lol. So they date and Albedo is throwing around cheesy a*s lines, overly romantic gestures, and suggesting next steps like it's nothing. Kaeya's a mess the entire time bc he never knows how to react to anything and eventually Albedo starts developing actual feelings that he doesn't know what to do with either
I did it! I got it finished! As a thank you to everyone who has given kudos and comments, and because Valentine's Day is coming up, here's a smuterific one-shot featuring: pegging, butt stuff, Astarion having feelings, Eleanor has dom tendencies she didn't know about, and Astarion getting nice things!
Rated a very, very E for smut.
Roses are red, violets are blue, blah blah I’d like to fuck you.
Or: Astarion bought a toy. Eleanor wants to give him a night he won’t forget.
“Legs up,” he says. “Pull your knees up. Better leverage.”
You do. He leans back, bracing his hands on your knees. Moving himself so you hit his sweet spot ruthlessly.
Another peek at you, pleasure painted over every line of his body.
“Fuck me, Eleanor.”
The inn is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Two stories, shutters closed against the torrent, lantern light turning puddles and muddy streets golden.
You’re going to cry. Not that anyone will be able to tell in this storm. Poor Karlach has been hidden in a cloud of steam since the downpour began.
“Gods, I’m not taking another step unless it’s towards the front door of that inn,” Astarion says, voice pitched firmly into bitchy. “I am not slogging through one more minute of this filth.”
Filth being the inches-deep trough of mud the road has turned into. Y’all are coated up to the knees.
“A warm bed and a warmer bath would be nice,” Wyll says. And if Mr. Of-the-Frontiers “I’m used to sleeping on rocks” is saying that, you know everyone is thinking it.
“Fuck,” you say. Eloquent as ever. “We got gold, right?”
“Plenty,” Gale says. His hair keeps sliding over his face in rivulets of water. He looks like a sad, wet cat.
“Hope they got rooms.”
They have, in fact, got a packed-ass seating area, a handful of alcove bunks in a common area upstairs, and a single, small room with a modest bed (other travelers had the same idea when the storm hit).
Y’all’ve had a helluva day. Chasing down leads to some sort of bullshit or another. Half of y’all ain’t even here (Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Halsin, and y’all’s new friends had split off to go hunt down something else).
Which meant when y’all triggered a bunch of undead critters in the shitpile of some tomb, y’all had to do a lot more work to clean up. Astarion took the brunt of it after the two of you (again) got separated from the others.
He stands there, hair plastered to his skull, not an ounce of pink in his complexion (and looking grayer than usual). That’s when the idea comes to you.
“Y’all mind if me and Astarion take the room?” you say.
Ain’t no way to be subtle about it. They all know what you two are about. Especially since that goddamn newspaper came out (it wasn’t neither of y’all’s fault the fucking graveyard grounds keeper was a nosy sunuvabitch who both took his job way too seriously, and took off sprinting to the Faerun equivalent of a tabloid newspaper after catching a glimpse of you.) (You’d finished by then, which was probably the only reason Astarion hadn’t run him down and shut him up.)
They’ve known you two were a couple for a long while. They’d assumed you two had been physical for longer than you actually had been.
“Really?” Karlach says, still steaming. “After all this?”
Astarion says nothing, though his eyebrows quirk in mild interest. The bags under his eyes are more prominent, the color almost bruise purple. His eyes are duller. He looks more corpserific than he has in a while.
You started it, he seems to say. So you finish it.
“I just wanna take a bath and lay in bed, and all my clothes gotta dry,” you say. “We both’ve seen each other naked.”
Clever mischief glints in Wyll’s eye. He’s the most solid out of all of you’uns. The one with the most rigorous sense of morality. Usually plays the straight-laced folk hero.
But the man’s damned charming, and his genial good will hides a wicked sense of humor.
“All the bunks have privacy screens,” he says. “We’ll all be drying out our belongings.”
Gale says nothing. Just stares into the middle distance as he hikes up a section of robe to wring about a liter of water out.
Wyll makes a show out of checking out the common room and y’all’s fellow travelers. “In fact, I see other couples doing just that.”
“I’m not saying we’re gonna fuck, but if we do, you really wanna sleep right next to that?”
Wyll snorts and waves a hand, smiling. “On second thought, I think I’ll pass.”
Karlach pulls a face. “In public?”
“Y’all said they got privacy screens. And you didn’t have no problem walking around tits out during that heatwave.”
“Which beds did we get?” Gale cuts in. He used up even his much-improved magic capacity trying to get you and Astarion out of that fucking trap sinkhole. He can’t even do his presto-tation cleaning spell to dry himself off.
So you end up taking the key and heading upstairs, Astarion trailing after you.
Bath water is something you gotta pay for, in Faerun. The tub’s in the room, and you’re free to haul up however many buckets from the well outside yourself. But that’s a lot of buckets to drag up a flight of stairs, and the inn keep don’t let customers heat it up over the fire themselves.
So a good hour after you and Astarion settle in, you finally got a bath drawn and steaming.
“You go first,” you say.
Astarion sits on the bed in nothing but his drawers, wrapped in a blanket. He don’t get hypothermia—undead and all—but he does get real achy in the cold.
He gives you a small, tired smile, and lets the blanket (and his drawers) slide down.
You still ain’t super used to seeing a cock all bare. Not more than what your occasional forays into porn showed—so mostly just the part not currently buried in somebody. It hangs more forward than you thought it would. Also smaller than you thought it’d be (again, porn and both unrealistic standards, and flaccid ones are smaller).
You make yourself look away. But not before Astarion—ever alert and enough of a bastard to make that your problem—notices.
“See something you like, sweetheart?” Where once that line would have been pure, silken debauchery, his voice is calmer when he’s alone with you, now. Still carries a flirty lilt (he always does with everyone), but with less performance woven through it.
“Just curious,” you say. “And I like watching you—not creepily, I mean. Anyway, if you want a bath and then the bed—for sleeping only—I’m down for that.”
“Mmm,” he says. Steps into the water and hisses. He eases himself down slow. Finally sits and all but melts against the wedge of the wooden tub, eyes closed and head tilted back. “Yet you requested this little love nest for us. And that cunning mind of yours always has at least three ideas fluttering around.
Said with a wiggle of his fingers around his temple.
He’s got a long neck. Stretched out like that, his adam’s apple stands out. As do his bite scars.
“We really can just sleep,” you say.
Now he cracks one, red eye open. Tilts his head to better peer over at you. Swirls his hand in the water as he waits for an answer.
He’s being patient with you. Says you’re patient with him, but you can count on three fingers all the people you ever actually wanted to bed, and none of them ever got that far. It’s not an ordeal for you to wait. You don’t have any expectations for him in that department (which you suspect had been a huge relief for him, and one of the reasons y’all’ve worked out).
He does so much for you. He’s helped you work through hangups you didn’t even know you had. He’s saved your ass more times than you can count, directly and not.
“If you wanted,” you start slow. “And you can say no at any point. But, if you wanted, I thought we could take a night and I could learn, um. We could learn what you like better. Just you. Or, well, me focusing on you.”
His idle finger twirling stops. He stills, both eyes open now and fixed on you. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Doesn’t even breathe.
Then his lips part. His words stutter and he frowns. Then, “You want to give me pleasure.”
Every word slow and enunciated. Not…trepidation, exactly. And not quite disbelieving. He trusts you, he’d said. He’s just verifying for the sake of both’ve you.
“I’m curious,” you repeat, so deliberate and nonchalant it’s borderline teasing.
“Pleasure me how?” Astarion says. Once again, flicking at the bathwater.
