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slusheeduck · 6 months

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For Want Of A Wish

[I][II][III]

IV. Revel

As they passed through the crossing, they were immediately enrobed in the golden sunlight that seemed to drip through the trees. They both had a moment of wonder, before Astarion remembered himself and dove for the nearest shade. He pressed his back against a tree, brows creasing as he realized he was stuck.

“Gods, I forget how beautiful it…Love?” Falerin broke from his reverie, looking around until he found where Astarion had tucked himself away. He stepped around, still bathed in sunlight—the deep red of his hair was brightened in the light, with streaks of silver threaded through, as he tilted his head to look at him. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know if you recall this, dearheart, but I am, in fact, a vampire,” Astarion hissed. “Or did you think we only went out at night for fun once the Absolute business was over?”

Falerin blinked, and his eyes widened. “Oh, oh! Oh, you think…this isn’t real.”

“I beg your fucking pardon.”

Falerin shook his head, then waved around them. “All of…this. It’s not real sunlight. I mean, I suppose it is, but it doesn’t work like ours. It’s always like this.” He wrinkled his nose, trying to think of the best way to explain it. “Here, let me show you.” He held out his hand for Astarion’s.

Astarion looked down at it, then back up at him. “Did you ever learn cure wounds?” he asked dryly.

“No, but we won’t need it. Just trust me.”

Astarion frowned, weighing his options, before he finally gave a sigh and set his hand in Falerin’s. “If I burn…”

“You won’t.” Slowly, Falerin pulled Astarion’s hand forward, into the sunlight. Astarion grimaced and shut his eyes, waiting for the burn he knew all too well. But it…never came—there wasn’t even so much as a prickle. He opened his eyes, staring at his pale skin, bright and unmarked in the sunlight. He blinked, releasing Falerin’s hand to hold it up.

“Gods. You were right,” he said, voice soft. The longer his hand stayed in the sun, the more he realized that it did feel…different than what he remembered from three years ago. It wasn’t warm, or cold, or…anything, really. Somehow, it felt more like an artificer’s lamp—effective, but inorganic. But even so, it was more sunlight than he’d dared to hope for in years, so he was hardly going to complain.

He stepped out into the sunlight, glancing over to catch Falerin staring at him. He returned the stare with his own curious look. “What?”

To his surprise, Fal’s face split into a grin. “I’d forgotten how beautiful you look in the daylight,” he said, voice soft and odd eyes bright. “It suits you.” He laughed. “All the more reason to get that Wish.”

Astarion gave his own little smile, mouth staying firmly shut. Best not spoil anything by blurting his plan now. He looked around them, now able to properly take in their surroundings. “Is this the Court?”

“Mm? Oh, no, no, the Court’s a way off. Well, probably. It…moves.” Fal picked his way back out to the little road, Astarion close behind.

“What do you mean ‘it moves’?” the vampire asked, any wonder suddenly evaporating.

“Well, her Court never stays in one place. I assume it’s still close by—it hasn’t been very long since I was here, in their time, but…” Fal shrugged, having the audacity to look unbothered. “Someone will be able to point us there.”

Astarion stood still, staring hard at Falerin. He finally looked away, taking a very deep breath as he brought his hands together. “So. You’re telling me, darling, dearheart, beloved, light of my life, Falerin Glais, that your plan for the two of us, is to wander around an entirely different realm until someone is nice enough to give directions to a fey court that could be on the other side of the Feywild for all we know?” His voice had steadily risen through the last half of the sentence, breaking on “Feywild,” but even so, Falerin didn’t look any less confident. In fact, he smiled as he reached for Astarion’s hand.

“Look,” he said, voice quiet as he wrapped both warm hands around Astarion’s, “it’s like I said. This place is…it was my home for a long time. I know how it works, and I know how to get us where we need to go. And…” He tilted his head back and forth. “My patron is…she has a lot of sway here. One look at this…” He tapped just beneath his violet eye. “…and I guarantee every fey will know exactly where we’re going. Trust me?” Falerin bit his lip, looking over Astarion’s face, then nodded back behind him. “Portal’s still open. We can still leave.”

Astarion’s mouth stayed in a hard line, and he glanced back over his shoulder. The portal was indeed still open, a perfect circle of mundane darkness amidst the impossible vibrance of the Feywild. It was tempting, scurrying back to the shadows and hoping for an easier way to fix things. But if he’d clawed his way this far after two hundred years, he wasn’t about to get back to it now. He took a breath, then looked back to Falerin.

“Well, I’ve trusted you this far, mad as you are,” he finally said. “Suppose I can manage a bit farther.”

Fal gave him a wide smile, squeezing his hand before he let go to turn and start walking. “I actually think you’ll like it here, once we get to the Court. Obviously I don’t think we should move in or anything, but…well, you can already see, it’s unlike anywhere else.”

Astarion looked overhead. Despite the golden light filtering down to them, there didn’t seem to be a source for the light. It just...was. No shadows either, now that he was looking—granted, he couldn’t go by his own. But each leaf of the trees around them were perfectly lit, creating an odd lack of depth in the world around them. Beautiful, yes, but…not quite right. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

“Ah! Hang on, before we go any farther, here.” Falerin suddenly stopped, reaching up to grab two of the perfectly lit leaves from an overhead branch. He held one out to Astarion. “Here, you’ll want this.”

Astarion took it, looking it over. “What, is it…currency here?” He grinned as he spun it between his fingers. “Trading leaves and dewdrops for…” He looked up just in time to see Falerin shove the whole leaf in his mouth. “…couldn’t wait thirty seconds before being an absolute weirdo, could you, love?”

Falerin nodded at him as he chewed. “Go on, eat yours.”

“You know, I’m really regretting what I just said about trusting you. I think I’ll pass.”

Falerin shook his head as he swallowed. “No, no, it’s…it’s essential. I promise it is. You know fairy food, how it’s enchanted?” As Astarion nodded, he continued, “Well, it is. But the first thing you eat here makes you immune to future enchantments. Most people, of course, have the cakes or wine or whatever, and they get enchanted. But if you have a leaf, stick, flower—you know, anything recognizable that’s from here specifically, you’ll be able to have whatever you want without any issue.”

Astarion stared at him, then back down at his leaf. “Well, then, isn’t it lucky I don’t have to eat? And that includes leaves.” He tucked it in one of his many hidden pockets, then waved his hand. “I’ll just drink from…” He paused. “Do…do the things here have blood?”

Falerin thought for a moment, squinting hard at the ground. “I…they must. They must. I mean, I’ve never seen for myself, but they’re…” He trailed off. “Well, it might not even be an issue!” He started walking again. “When I came before, my illness, my aging, all of that seemed to stop. I don’t recall being particularly hungry or thirsty, really, so…it may be a non-issue, especially since you drank from me last night. And everything should be paused for me now, so you’ll be able to drink from me again if you need.”

“Mm.” That did…not sound like a solid plan, but it wasn’t like Astarion had anything better to offer. He took a couple quick steps to catch up to Falerin, looping his arm through his again—this realm was getting increasingly strange, just listening to Fal talk about it, and a bit of grounding never hurt anyone. They kept an easy pace; there was no real rush, after all, and the…day? night? was young, and there seemed to be no threats ahead.

After a while, Astarion glanced to Falerin. “So how did you get here the first time?”

“Crossroad, same one we came through.”

“Yes, yes, but…what did you do? You know, like the flute playing.” Astarion paused. “How did you show your heart?”

Falerin’s mouth twitched up into a little smile. “I sang.”

Astarion snorted before he could stop himself, and he quickly covered his mouth. “Sorry. I’m sorry, love. I just…I’ve heard you sing, and it’s…” He tried to think of the kindest way to put it. “I can think of many other strengths that would suit you better.”

Falerin let out a soft little laugh. “I’m terrible, you can say it.”

“Zel’s yowling for breakfast is more melodic, darling, I’m sorry.”

Falerin nodded, staying quiet for a moment as he stared down at the road. “I didn’t used to be,” he said quietly, but he left it there.

Astarion watched him for a moment as they walked, trying to decipher the odd, almost wistful look on his face. But ultimately, he also left it there. He sighed, tilting his head to rest against Fal’s as they walked.

“If you had to do that song and dance again, no pun intended, I think you’d really impress the Guardian with your lacework.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm. You know Adrina, the dragonborn who commissioned a wedding dress that I begged for your help on? She adored the lace. Thought it was the best part.”

“You’re flattering me.”

“I’m not! Please, like I would ever voluntarily say something outshone my embroidery.” Astarion paused. “Which, for the record, my embroidery on that dress was also stunning.”

Falerin laughed, and Astarion relaxed. There, a bit of normalcy in a terribly strange place—that made things much better. And, from experience, a bit of laughter always made the vast, overwhelming first steps of a journey that much easier to take.

While there seemed to be no sun, the daylight began giving way to twilight, gold shifting to pinks and blues as they traveled on. Like the last time Fal had been here, the path had been pleasant thus far, with no threats lingering close by. Astarion had even lost a bit of his natural wariness, and they chatted as if they were walking down to the night market.

Eventually, though, it was clear they would have to make camp. Falerin sighed as he set down his pack. He’d hoped they’d find someone before now, but it looked like it was just them. He sat down on a rock, brow furrowing as he thought. “It certainly is interesting here,” Astarion said, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back. “I hardly feel like we’ve walked much at all. Of course, now that I say that out loud, I’m worried that we’ve hardly made any progress.” He looked behind him, searching for the portal; it was nowhere to be found. He gave a pleased little huff, then looked back to Falerin. “Are you doing all right, darling?”

“Mm? Oh, yes. Not as well as I did with the tadpole, but I’m all right.” Falerin leaned forward, mouth pressed against his hand as he thought. “We may have to go off the path tomorrow. I thought we’d find someone by now—I’ll admit, it has me a little worried that we’re farther off than I thought…but that doesn’t make sense.”

“Darling, when has any part of our adventures made sense?” Astarion asked, digging out his sleeping roll. “We fought a giant brain with a squid-faced hero of old as an ally…or, well, whatever it was doing. A sparsely populated wood is far from abnormal.” He unrolled the mat, then looked off into the wood, squinting. “Oh, hello.”

Falerin followed his gaze. “What?”

“We may not be alone after all. I spy a light.” Astarion leaned down and pointed through the trees. Sure enough, a golden glow filtered through the leaves against the darkening surroundings. Falerin got up to move closer to Astarion, tilting his head curiously as he listened. From where they crouched, the tinkling sound of laughter was carried by the soft breeze, along with the heady smell of flowers and something sweet that was nearly familiar, but not quite.

He bit his lip, tugging it to the side as he studied the shifting shadows and laughter. He glanced at Astarion, who tilted his head.

“Should we go?” the vampire whispered. “Do you think it’s safe?”

“It’s definitely Court fairies, though I’m not sure with who,” Falerin whispered back. “But I’d wager Spring Court—that’s where my patron’s from.” He tilted his head back and forth, then looked at Astarion and shrugged. “It’s either trying our luck with them, or wandering around tomorrow. I’d say we should try.”

Astarion nodded, silently moving back to gather up his bedroll. He didn’t say anything, but the unspoken I’m trusting you hung heavy between them. Once he’d gathered his things and brought Falerin’s pack over, they quietly made their way toward the light.

They found a clearing not far into the forest, and that’s where the laughter and light was coming from. The two of them slipped around the trees to get a better look. There were two fey—wispy, pale things, feminine in appearance with long tendrils of white hair, frothy shifts that looked as though they were woven from the morning mist, and large silver eyes that sparked with something much more wild than anything in mortal eyes. They’d arranged a picnic, it looked like, with delicate little cakes, sandwiches, and other dainty foods that certainly wouldn’t be seen at a standard Neverwinter tea. Each fey had a goblet in their hands, with wine so sweet Falerin and Astarion could smell it from where they hid. The two laughed at some untold joke, but one suddenly stopped, starry eyes wide.

“Oh, oh, Fionnula,” she whispered, reaching to grasp the other fey’s arm. “I think we have company.” She gasped, excited. “Mortal company, even.”

“Mortal company? Oh, Fiadh, how exciting!” Fionnula hopped up to her feet, so lightly she looked as though she floated upward. “Come on out, mortals! Oh, we won’t hurt you—and you must know we can’t lie!”

Fiadh got up as well, flittering around the camp. As she came near where Astarion and Falerin crouched, Fal caught sight of Astarion’s hand starting to go for his knife. He reached over to grab his wrist, shaking his head. Before he could say anything, though, one of the fey popped her head out from between the trees, sending a bright smile at them.

“Fionnula, I found them!” she called, then reached for Falerin’s hands. Her grip was surprisingly strong, and she pulled him up to his feet without much effort. “Oh, you mustn’t spend the night there, silly! Come, join our revel! It’s a small one, but still plenty of fun!”

“Don’t touch me,” Falerin heard Astarion snap as Fionnula came over to pull him into the clearing. He tensed, worried he might have offended her, but she merely laughed.

“Oh, no need for that, mortal!” she trilled, practically dancing him to the little set-up. “We’re kin, you know! I can tell by your lovely ears and your pretty face—you’ve fey-blood in you!”

“This one does, too, though much, much less—his ears aren’t nearly so lovely.” Fiadh’s fingers traced curiously over Falerin’s ear, and she tilted her head as she looked at his face. The hand found its way to his violet eye, delicate fingers pushing his lids open to look it over. “Ohh, I know who you belong to,” she said with a knowing smile as she released him.

Despite the manhandling, Falerin perked up. “You do? Can you tell me where her Court’s moved to, then?”

“Oh, yes yes yes, but not until you’ve reveled with us!” She looked back in alarm as Fionnula let out a little shriek of laughter, not unlike a child who’d been startled by something. Falerin just caught sight of her pushing up Astarion’s lips, and she danced back quickly as he snapped his teeth at her instinctively.

“Fiadh, Fiadh, come here! This one…oh, he’s so cold, and his teeth are so sharp!”

Fiadh fluttered her way over to Astarion, reaching out to grab his hand despite his best efforts to back away. “Oh, he is! He’s so frightfully cold. Do you need warming, kin?”

“I don’t need anything,” Astarion hissed at her, trying to tug his arm back.

“You see? Oh, but look at his teeth. Do you think he’s dead? I think he’s dead!” Fionnula said in a half-whisper.

“He can’t be dead. He’s far too handsome. He looks like us!”

“Oh, he does, he does. But the eyes are all wrong.”

“The eyes are all wrong. Oh, but maybe the rest of him’s all right.” Fiadh’s hands traveled to Astarion’s collar, trying to work the stays, while Fionnula set to his shoulders. Astarion had frozen up, eyes wide and teeth still bared—no magic, not that Falerin could see, but rather indecision on whether he was going to go somewhere a million realms away or bite off one of the fey’s hands.

Well, Falerin wouldn’t let either of those happen. It was time to intervene.

“Fionnula, Fiadh,” he said brightly, getting their attention back on him as he stepped forward. “My beloved there is certainly flattered by your attention, but…well, he’s not familiar with this realm, and you may be overstepping a bit. We’re not mad, of course, but…it can read as a bit rude.”

The word “rude” sent a visible shiver through both fey as they gasped, and they simultaneously stepped back from Astarion. There was the barest bit of relaxing in the stiff line of his shoulders and the set of his jaw—crisis averted.

“Oh, we didn’t mean to be rude,” Fionnula said.

“You’re just so pretty, we couldn’t help it!” Fiadh added, anxiously combing her fingers through her hair.

“I hear that more often than you’d think,” Astarion said weakly. He took a breath, composing himself. “But th—” He caught sight of Falerin firmly shaking his head. “…I’m grateful that you’ve given me a bit of space.”

There was a time, not too long ago, when Astarion had to be coached through saying thank you. This was a bit of a pleasant reminder of how far he’d come, really—not that Falerin would say anything about that.

“Oh, but we’re terrible hosts. Terrible hosts! Let’s make it better.” Fionnula took Astarion’s hand again, but only to guide him over to the set up. Fiadh beckoned Falerin over to join them, which he did. “We’ve brought such lovely things with us, and we’re all too glad to share.”

From thin air, it seemed, two glasses of wine materialized in Fiadh’s hands, and she pushed one each into Astarion and Falerin’s palms. “Here, do drink this. We’ll have a lovely time together.”

There was the too-sweet smell—fairy wine. Even if it had been a while since Falerin had seen it, he could remember the effects all too well. The haziness, the looseness…drinking fairy wine was an essential part of a revel, and while Falerin couldn’t remember most of what happened when he’d drunk it, he could always remember waking the next morning, sick and sore and untangling himself from whatever fey had wanted to play the night before.

But he’d warned Astarion, at least. So if they could play off not drinking it, they could… He glanced over as he caught a flash of silver, and he blanched as he watched Astarion, still stiff and wary, take a bracing sip, likely in an attempt to shake off the unwanted touches. The sip became a gulp, then two gulps—the whole glass was drained before Falerin could so much as say a word.

Oh shit.

Fionnula and Fiadh, however, seemed delighted. “There, look at him drink! Oh, we really must be kin. Shall we give you some more, pretty cold boy?”

“No,” Falerin said firmly, moving closer to Astarion. “I…I’m sorry. Your revel is lovely. But we have a meeting with…” He trailed off as he felt the entire weight of Astarion flop against him, breath catching as a hand, still clever even with the fairy wine, traced along his inner thigh.

“You…” Astarion slurred out, tilting his head up against Fal’s shoulder to look up at him from under his lashes. “…are so beautiful. Have I told you that lately, my love?” He tilted his head up, pointy chin resting on the half-drow’s shoulder. “Kiss me. Please kiss me. I think I may just die if you don’t.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Falerin muttered.

“Oh, no! Oh, kiss him, please!” Fionnula pleaded.

“Yes, he’s asked ever-so-nicely!” Fiadh added.

“Ever-so-nicely,” Astarion echoed with a hazy grin.

Falerin grimaced, but he finally leaned in for a quick peck. Astarion, though, had other plans; his hand buried in Falerin’s hair, and he expertly shifted them to press the length of their bodies together as he deepened the kiss, tongue tracing Fal’s full lips as he did. Falerin’s eyes widened, and he abruptly pulled his head back to gasp in a breath.

“This…this was lovely,” he said, voice shaking slightly as he tried to disentangle himself from Astarion, whose hands were wandering over his neck, his cheek, his chest. “But we really must be going.” He got up to his feet, hoisting Astarion up with him—it was a strain, with how close he was to being dead weight, but he got him up and balanced after a few false starts. He heard Fionnula and Fiadh giggle from their seats, but he ignored them—Astarion, from the look of it, wasn’t even aware they were there.

His cold hand clumsily went back to Falerin’s hair, combing his fingers through it. “Why did you cut your hair?” he mumbled, heavy-lidded eyes traveling, half-focused, over his face. “I loved your hair when it was long. But I still love you. Gods, do I love you.” Astarion lurched forward, this time catching Falerin’s lip with his blunt front teeth. His hand traveled over his cheek, down his neck and dipping below his collar, while his free arm stayed looped tightly around his waist. “Fuck me,” he mumbled into Falerin’s mouth.

“Astarion…” Falerin’s throat bobbed against Astarion’s exploring hand.

“I mean it. Fuck me. Gods, I want you to so badly.” He lurched forward, tongue teasing at Fal’s earlobe before he whispered, “And I know you want to, too.” He laughed against Falerin’s neck, breathy and soft as his cold lips smeared kisses along it. “You allllways do. Even when you pretend you don’t. I can tell, darling.”

Falerin finally set his hands on Astarion’s shoulders, pushing him back to look at him with wide eyes. The vampire was relaxed, possibly the most relaxed Falerin had ever seen him, and the tilt in his head and spark in his eyes suggested that, yes, he really did want to sleep with Falerin. His tongue pushed against his lower lip, his body shifted forward, his hands tried to flutter to land anywhere on Falerin—he didn’t just want to sleep with Falerin, he was gagging for it.

And, despite Falerin knowing that this was wholly because of the wine, it was…thrilling, seeing Astarion like this. Wanton and pliant and obvious, in a way he’d never been before now. With how worked up he was, Falerin could do whatever he wanted with him, and he’d thank him for doing so.

What a heady power that was. Heady and…familiar. The promise alone seemed to seep into his bones, and it puppeted him as he reached his hand out. His thumb grazed over the elf’s smooth cheek, and Astarion pushed against it with a shuddery little breath, as if he could find relief from Fal’s touch alone.

“Astarion,” Falerin purred out, and it felt new on his tongue, no matter that he’d said his name thousands of times before. He let the taste linger, eyes tugging up the elf’s body like they were being guided. There was a bright flare behind his right eye, similar to when he’d watched Barger and Astarion perform for the Guardian. Amusement far beyond what he’d ever felt, but with something more this time…want.

The pretty thing in front of him would do anything he asked, he knew. And he would not let that chance go to waste.

But before he could lean forward, something odd happened. His sight in his right eye changed. With the left—the mundane eye—his gaze was still fixed on Astarion, but with his fey eye, he was somewhere new, catching a glimpse of a beautiful room filled with greenery and light.

It was just for a moment, but that was enough to pull him out of…whatever that had been. Oh, gods, what had he been about to do? He gasped, stepping back despite Astarion’s protest. That…was that…him? But no, it couldn’t have been. He’d always wanted to protect Astarion, to be different than all the others that had just taken.

At some point, it seemed like Fionnula and Fiadh had gone, and their spread of treats along with them. Falerin looked over the now-empty copse, then let out a breath. But he only had a moment before two hands, cold and clever and impatient, found their way to his body, tracing the line of his neck and following the curve of his arse before both slid down to meet between his thighs.

“Astarion,” Falerin’s voice came out high-pitched and whispery this time, hips lifting before he could stop himself. He melted as cold lips found his neck again, fangs just teasing his skin. “As-Astar—love, you’re not in your right mind.”

“When am I ever?” Astarion purred back. His tongue traced the jut of Falerin’s Adam’s apple. “Come on, darling, I need you.”

Falerin shut his eyes with a shuddering little breath as his trousers loosened, hands weakly going to Astarion’s wrists once he’d untied his stays. “You…” He was interrupted as he caught Astarion’s lips, kissing him hungrily before he pulled back. “You’re making it very hard to say no, you know.”

“Then…say…yes.” Astarion pressed himself up against Falerin, bodies interlocking perfectly against each other, and he let out a shuddering sigh against his mouth. “Please, dearheart.”

Falerin only had so much willpower. The little he had left he used to push Astarion back, just enough to look at him. He swallowed, face flushed and hair mussed and loosened trousers tenting. “Okay,” he finally said in a rush of air. “Okay. But…but let me…I want you to enjoy this.”

Before Astarion could get a word in, Falerin sank down to his knees. His hands weren’t as quick or clever, but they were well-practiced as he found the ties of the other man’s trousers. He didn’t waste time with teasing or goading, though he was careful as he pulled Astarion free; given how riled up he was, Fal was fairly certain one wrong touch might finish him right there.

He looked up at him, odd eyes glinting in the half-light. Astarion’s gaze had been barely focused up to this point, but now his red eyes were direct and bright as he slid his fingers into Falerin’s cropped hair—there were no stars in the twilight sky overhead, but Falerin could practically see them glinting in the vampire’s gaze. He gave a smile, taking a moment to press a warm kiss to the tip before he took him in his mouth.

Astarion, as a rule, was relatively reserved whenever they had sex. No doubt it was a holdover from centuries in the flophouse; no matter who you were or what you were doing, no one wanted to hear their neighbors fucking through the walls. He teased and melted and purred out praise, but always quietly.

Except for now. As Falerin’s head bobbed, tongue teasing the underside of his cock and lavishing attention on its head, he was loud. A breathless jumble of Elvish and Common echoed against the trees, a cacophony of “IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou” falling from his tongue. It was all terribly earnest, not a hint of performance in it, and it, admittedly, was really doing things for Fal. He kept his pace, one hand firmly grasping Astarion’s hip while the other reached down to palm himself for some relief as he worked.

Not that it took long at all. Astarion’s verbal torrent stopped suddenly, and his grip on Falerin’s hair grew painfully tight. After one moment of stillness, he let out a shuddering exhale as he curled around Falerin, finish spilling cold and fast down the half-drow’s throat. Falerin didn’t dare move as Astarion shook through his finish, reaching up only to keep a steady grip on him as he came down. Once the hands in his hair loosened, Fal carefully pulled off of him, giving his mouth a quick wipe before he looked up at Astarion—just in time to catch him as he collapsed in a boneless heap on top of him, bringing them both down onto the grass.

For a moment, they simply laid there. Astarion was too far gone to catch his breath—a learned behavior rather than a natural one at this point—and Falerin kissed the top of his curly head before letting his own fall back with a sigh.

“All right?” he finally asked as Astarion stirred after a moment of stillness. He lifted his head, haziness from the wine still evident but eyes just as bright as they’d been not long before. He gave a smile—bright and unhindered—and he gave the dreamiest of sighs as he looked over his face.

“Never better.” He grinned as he pulled himself up, pulling Falerin into another kiss. “But, my darling love, I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

Morning in the Feywild was a misty thing, damp and fresh without the chill that you’d find in the real world, so to speak. The golden light was diffused, making the world paler and softer than the bright summer light the two of them had walked into the day before. Really, as far as mornings went, you couldn’t ask for a prettier start to the day.

Not that Astarion noticed, given that he felt like utter shit. Between the fairy wine and the veritable marathon of sex he and Falerin had had the night before, he’d slept—actually slept, which he’d only done a handful of times in nearly two-and-a-half centuries—soundly enough, but waking had greeted him with the worst hangover he’d possibly ever had. Everything ached, he felt sick to his stomach, and having honed hearing and smell really was not helping with either.

At some point, they’d gotten their sleeping rolls out, and Astarion sank deeper into his, trying to blot out the light. The light touch to his shoulder resulted in an exhausted—but no less embarrassing—actual hiss.

“Sorry, sorry.” Falerin’s voice was very soft, no doubt trying to mitigate the sensory overload that was a hungover vampire. “Just checking on you. How do you feel?”

“If you really loved me, you’d stake me now.”

“Can’t. I don’t want to carry your pack.” Fal’s hand found Astarion’s back through the blanket, and he gave it a gentle rub. “I’m sorry about last night. I should have warned you about the wine.”

“You should have.”

Falerin stayed quiet for a moment, hand still working a soothing path up and down his back. “I’m…sorry I didn’t say no.”

Even in his haze of misery, Astarion’s brows drew together at that. With a tremendous show of strength that really deserved a medal of some sort, he turned over, mussed curls and red eyes poking over the edge of his sleeping roll. “You’re sorry about the sex?”

Fal’s face, already drawn, grimaced even harder. “I just…you weren’t in your right mind, and I know I did try to say no but I…I should have…it wasn’t…I don’t want you to think that I…” He looked down as Astarion’s hand snaked out to wrap around his forearm.

“Falerin, dearheart. If there is anyone that I feel comfortable having…completely addled fairy wine-induced sex with, it’s you. You don’t need to apologize for that.” His cheeks lifted, showing the smile hidden beneath the covers. “I don’t remember much, but I do remember having fun.” Once Falerin’s frown lessened, he groaned and sank back down into the bedroll. “What you do need to apologize for is allowing us to get up to all that in the fucking grass. I feel like I need three baths.”

“Might have to wait on that front, though there must be a river nearby.” Falerin sighed. “And we didn’t get any directions after all that.” He shook his head. “But we shouldn’t dally too long. Let’s get dressed.”

Astarion groaned again. “Okay, no stake. But my rapier’s not far off; if you’re quick enough, I bet you could behead—”

“No, Astarion.”

“Horrible. Wretched. Cruel. I don’t think you love me at all.”

Despite his complaints and trying not to think about the fact he knew he looked like death warmed over, Astarion did finally crawl out from the bedroll and started getting dressed. He’d just pulled his trousers on when he paused, head tilting as he heard something. He looked over to Falerin, waiting for the half-drow to pull on his tunic before he pressed a finger to his mouth. He crept over to the edge of the copse, listening.

“We were just having a bit of fun! Neither of them are hurt!”

Oh, that sounded like…Fiona or Fiddle or whatever the two fey from last night were named. Astarion frowned, leaning in a bit more.

“It was just a little revel. We didn’t even ask their names.” There was the other one.

“Even so, you both should have known better. If anything happened, she’s going to be furious—you know how badly she wants mortals sent her way.” That was a different voice. It was melodic and smooth—definitely masculine and very pleasing on the ear. “If they’re hurt…”

“They’re not!”

“They were sleeping when we checked on them!”

“Hush.”

As the footsteps drew closer, Astarion went back to Falerin’s side. “Company coming,” he said, digging out his rapier from the jumble of discarded armor. “Get a spell ready.”

“What?” Falerin’s head whipped around to look at Astarion, but before he could do anything, the male voice rang out into the clearing.

“Good morning, sleepyheads! Heard you had quite the welcome to our neck of the woods.”

The two fey from last night stepped into the copse, looking suitably chastised as they flanked another one. Like the voice suggested, this one was male, and he was beautiful. He was thin and willowy, standing just a touch taller than Astarion. Red hair spilled over his shoulders like ink, smooth and shiny in the morning light; his face had the telltale sharp and pointed features of the fey, with a pretty heart-shaped mouth and almond-shaped, golden eyes not unlike a fox. He glanced over Astarion first, chuckling as he held up his hands.

“I mean no harm,” the fey said, giving him a charming, slightly lopsided smile—a show of imperfection, clearly. “I just wanted to…”

“Amory?”

The fey stopped as Falerin spoke, and his head darted over to look at the half-drow. He blinked a few times, hands dropping and face going slack in surprise. “Falerin?”

Fal suddenly smiled, and he took a step forward to greet him. Amory, though, was quicker; in two swift steps, he’d gotten right up to Falerin, and he immediately pulled him into a deep, deep kiss.

Astarion stared, too dumbfounded and far too hungover to even think of how to properly react to seeing a fey shove his tongue down his partner’s throat. Finally, after far too long a kiss, he cleared his throat. Amory pulled away, and he gave Astarion a grin.

“Sorry, where are my manners? Shall I kiss you too?”

As Astarion bristled at that, Fal quickly patted Amory’s chest, disengaging from him. “What are you doing here? I thought you went off to the Court of Hearts.”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” Amory’s attention was back on Falerin, and he ruffled his hands through the warlock’s hair. “And how are you so old? Look at all this gray hair—and don’t think I don’t see the wrinkles around your mouth. Oberon’s sack, you mortals really do age like mayflies, don’t you?”

Falerin laughed, a hand going to push off Amory’s with an easy familiarity that made something uncomfortable twist in Astarion. It had been a while since he’d felt jealous, truth be told, but it flared hot and furious just as it had years ago, at a much more bearish target.

“Is anyone going to explain what’s happening?” he snapped, then pointed his blade at Amory. “Falerin, who is this?”

Fal blinked. “Oh! Oh, yes, of course, sorry.” He gestured to Amory, who looked over Astarion with no small amount of amusement. “This is Amory. He’s a leanan sidhe, from the Prince of Hearts’ Court.”

“I’m a gloaming fey, before you ask,” Amory added easily. “Not with the Seelie or Unseelie, though typically I prefer the former.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed, blade still in place. “Well, that’s all well and good. Now how in the hells do you know Falerin?”

There was something wicked in Amory’s smile at the question, and he grinned before lightly batting the rapier away. “Oh, I thought that was obvious.” He draped his arms around Fal’s neck, pressing their cheeks together. “Should I tell him? I’ll tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Astarion said through his teeth, which only made Amory’s smirk widen.

“Well, I’m Falerin’s lover, of course.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav #feywild #nsft #There's lemon in here #This is so long and I am so tired but I did it

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