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bluerose5 · 6 months

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A Matter of Self-Preservation

Pairing: Zevran/Astarion

Word Count: 5,257

Summary: Zevran did the unthinkable and left Astarion behind in camp.

Naturally, Astarion didn't take so kindly to the fact that he returned injured.

Read on ao3 or continue below.

...

Astarion was trying not to worry.

Fat lot of good that did him.

It was a strange sensation though, he had to admit, worrying about somebody else other than himself. Of course, he brushed off those feelings as best as he could, telling himself that he was only concerned because any harm to Zevran meant that his own protection was compromised.

Caring for his well-being was a matter of self-preservation, and that was all.

Sad to say, Astarion couldn't even convince himself at that point, but he would continue to believe the lie for as long as possible.

Zevran rarely went anywhere without him. He was a fun sort, a kindred spirit. He wasn't afraid to admit that he was a liar, a murderer, and a thief. He was skilled and a professional at that, both from his time as an assassin and from his time fighting alongside his friend, the one that he called "the Warden."

It was a point of pride for him, but he didn't try to pretend to be anything he wasn't.

Astarion liked that about him. He went where he wanted, did as he pleased.

Dare he say, Astarion almost envied him for that, but Zevran was free of his shackles now. They were at different points in their respective stories, so Astarion chose to view him as a source of inspiration, rather than one of jealousy.

Besides, they did work oh so well together.

That was, until Zevran decided to leave him behind at camp.

Astarion tried not to be petty about it, even as he huffed and pouted, but Zevran stood his ground.

Truth be told —although he loathed to admit it— Astarion believed that the reason why he didn't want to stay behind was because he actually liked Zevran’s company.

He liked spending time with him, so he was feeling a tad bit rejected, to say the least.

It certainly didn't help matters that Astarion blew it the other night with him. What should have been a fun night of passion soured in the face of Astarion's ulterior motives.

Zevran was no fool. Astarion would give him that.

He might not have caught on at first to Astarion's act, but he did catch on, and that was the end of that.

Probably what made it worse was the fact that Zevran wasn't upset about it in the slightest. No, instead, he was understanding, and they–they…

They spent the night in each other's arms.

He told Astarion about his days in Antiva, about his adventures during the Blight.

Eventually, he fell asleep —which, a sleeping elf was a sight in and of itself— and Astarion entered his trance.

They hadn't brought it up again since then.

So excuse Astarion for feeling as if he was cast aside!

While Zevran was off with the others, Gale was busy trying to drown out his pain by burying himself into the latest scrolls Zevran got him, and Lae'zel continued training when she wasn't tending to her growing collection of weapons.

Which left Astarion alone with a million thoughts running through his mind.

At first, he remained holed up in his tent, pretending to read a book to pass the time, but it wasn't long before he yearned to feel the sun's warmth on his skin again. It was a bright, beautiful day, one that he did not intend to waste.

He set out on a walk along the river to stretch his legs. Well, it became more like pacing at times, but it got the job done nonetheless.

After a while, he slowed to a stop and stared out over the water.

Willing his mind to calm, he stood there, basking in the sunlight. With his arms outstretched, he closed his eyes, lost in the moment. He stilled his mind in a way not too dissimilar from how he meditated throughout his trances, but it didn't take long before his thoughts ventured to other matters.

It was all too easy to revisit their night together in the safety of his own thoughts.

He could still feel his lips tingling from a multitude of kisses. He could still feel the heat of Zevran’s body pressed up against his.

He could still smell his blood, could still taste him on his tongue, warm yet sweet.

It was so potent, how his scent clung to the air, even now.

Wait.

Astarion's eyes shot open.

His nostrils flared as he inhaled, long and deep.

That wasn't just his memory.

He could smell that familiar, metallic tang of fresh blood.

Zevran’s fresh blood.

Astarion swallowed thickly, his mouth watering.

Without thinking, he darted back towards camp, his footsteps silent, each one as unnaturally light as the last.

The closer he got, the stronger that scent grew.

Astarion heard them talking before he saw them.

He all but materialized out of thin air so far as the others were concerned, popping up behind Karlach without so much as a warning.

His words escaped in a low, threatening hiss.

“Where is he?”

Karlach, being the first unfortunate soul he happened upon, jumped out of her skin at his sudden appearance.

He didn't even wait for her response before rushing forward, but Karlach made sure to voice her unease.

“Fucking Hells, fangs, give me a warning next time you go creeping up behind me, yeah?” she grunted, scowling at him, which he was quick to return with a sneer of his own.

“Apologies for making you feel uncomfortable, my dear,” he deadpanned, “when you're clearly the one whose comfort takes priority right now.”

“No need to be an ass,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, but he paid her no mind.

He shoved past Wyll and Shadowheart to get to Zevran without delay, looking him over the instant he was within reach.

Zevran blinked owlishly at him.

In addition to the myriad of bruises he was now sporting, Zevran was covered in blood, his own blood from head to toe. If he moved too fast, there was the slightest catch in his breathing that Astarion could just barely discern. He cradled his right side when he shifted, but Astarion was able to pick up on the small wince that he tried to hide.

Astarion's head snapped towards the others at breakneck speed. He pinned them in place with a menacing glare, his eyes as black as night.

When he spoke, his lips kept twitching with every other word, itching to curl back to expose his teeth.

“What happened?” he asked, a sharp edge underlying his deceptively calm tone.

“Auntie Ethel revealed herself to be a hag,” Wyll explained, undeterred by Astarion's antics, “so we hunted her.”

He made it sound so simple.

“Auntie Ethel?” Astarion repeated. “As in that old woman that offered to cure us?”

“A tempting enough offer, I might add,” Zevran said, “until she asked for one of my eyes in exchange without elaborating on why she wanted it in the first place. I don't know much about your hags, but she reminded me too much of the Witches of the Wilds from my lands. From my experience, they tend to have more in store for you than they let on. Plus—” He shrugged, completely unbothered. “—I happen to like my eyes inside of my head. They are a pretty pair, no?”

“You have to admire his priorities. Vanity over ceremorphosis. How practical,” Shadowheart chuckled. She leaned around Astarion to smirk at him. “Very pretty indeed, Zevran.”

This time, Astarion didn't even try to refrain.

He bared his fangs at her in warning, but Shadowheart took her sweet time before backing away.

The sudden racing of her heart betrayed her, though. Try as she may to escape it, her baser instincts reacted to Astarion's close proximity with fear. Because, at the end of the day, he was still a monster, and they were still his prey.

“Thank you, my dear,” Zevran crooned. “I knew you would understand.”

Karlach, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, decided to chime in at that point, “We also saved one of the hag’s victims. Mayrina!”

“Oh, but of course,” Astarion mocked. As he continued, he turned his attention to Zevran. His nails had sharpened into claws by then, so he took hold of Zevran's chin with the utmost care, turning it this way and that as he surveyed the damage. “It simply wouldn't be an adventure with you and the esteemed Blade of Frontiers without some grand display of heroism.”

He scoffed with a roll of his eyes, sparing them both an unimpressed glance.

“So long as the damsel in distress is saved, then all is well, right?” His lips stretched into a strained smile, his fangs poking into his bottom lip. He lowered his voice into a growl. “Nevermind the fact that our illustrious leader got hurt in the process.”

Were he capable of spewing venom, it would have been dripping from his lips. It was clear what he thought of them in that moment.

Had he been there, then this wouldn't have happened.

He would've stopped it, watched Zevran’s back better than any of them ever could.

Zevran allowed Astarion to poke and prod to his heart's content, but he could sense the tension spiking amongst those gathered.

“Hey, I'll have you know that not only did we save the damsel in distress, all heroically and what-not, but I also deceived the hag into rewarding me with a boon of great power,” Zevran told him. “Well worth a few bruises here and there, I must say. I know that I have suffered far worse for way less in the past.”

“How reassuring, my dear,” Astarion said, wrinkling his nose in disdain.

“Truly, a win-win situation for all involved. Everyone is happy.” Zevran took one look at Astarion and amended his statement. “Well, almost everyone.”

Astarion huffed.

“Excuse me for being concerned.”

“Ah, yes,” Wyll taunted, “concerned that you won't be able to indulge in your favorite late-night snack again?”

Astarion's body took a step forward of its own volition, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation.

Luckily, Zevran caught him by the wrist and reeled him back in before they could turn the camp into a bloodbath.

“Come now. No need to get so hostile,” Zevran teased, drawing him in close by the waistband of his pants. “Shadowheart dealt with the worst of my injuries.”

“So this isn't even the ‘worst of it’ then?” Astarion snapped, his eyes narrowed, body tense.

“You're welcome, by the way,” Shadowheart interrupted, “for bringing him back in one piece.” She shook her head at both of them. “What a chore that turned out to be.”

“Ha!” Zevran didn't even give Astarion a chance to retort. “What can I say but that I like to keep people on their toes? If my dearest Astarion is so worried though, perhaps he can assist me with bathing. I still have some wounds that need tending to.”

Astarion grabbed his hand the second it was offered, but he ignored the mess of blood, wrapping Zevran up in a tight embrace. With his lips pressed against Zevran’s temple, his gaze darted between the others, never settling for long.

Karlach and Wyll were quick to dismiss themselves, Shadowheart not too far behind.

“On that note, here,” she said. She all but shoved a bag at them, potions and bottles clinking around from within. “Got this out of our camp supplies. Should be enough in there to finish patching him up. Try not to need me.”

She departed then, which left Zevran with a rather clingy vampire to deal with.

Never far from his reach, Zevran grabbed a few more items from their supplies before leading Astarion towards the nearby river.

Zevran furrowed his brow at him in concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, only once he was sure they were out of earshot from the others. “My dear, I am hardly on my deathbed here.”

With his bottom lip poked out into a pout, Astarion picked at his claws, intently focused on such a task.

“Of course I'm okay,” he answered. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Zevran said, each word thick with sarcasm. “Hear me out. Maybe, just maybe, I ask because you were one step away from ripping out everyone else's throats a second ago.”

“Hmph, would've served them right.”

“Astarion,” Zevran chuckled, “I thought we agreed that you would only kill people who aren't useful to us.”

“You suggested that once, yes, but perhaps I will choose to ignore those terms.”

Placing his hands on his hips, Zevran raised a brow at him with a smirk.

“Look, I—” Astarion waved his hands around in a vague sort of gesture. Eventually, he resigned himself to the truth, releasing a weary sigh. “I just hate the thought of you getting hurt while I'm not there.”

Zevran read between the lines well enough.

“Is that what this is about?” he asked, head cocked to the side. “You're upset because I left you here in camp?”

“All I'm saying is that this wouldn't have happened if—”

“You don't know that.”

“I know well enough that, had I been there,” Astarion snapped, “then I would have had your back, and you would have had mine.” His lips curled into a sneer. “That hag wouldn't have gotten close enough to lay a finger on you, I promise you that, so excuse me for feeling as if more could have been done to protect you while I had to stay behind.”

That being said, he snatched the bag from Zevran. Rummaging through it, he grumbled as he pulled out a healing potion and shoved it against his chest. Luckily, Zevran was able to catch it before it hit the ground.

“Drink,” Astarion ordered.

“What?” Zevran asked, feigning shock. “No ‘please’?”

“Depends on if you feel confident in testing my patience right now, my dear.”

“You know what, fair enough.”

He pulled the stopper and tossed it back, downing it in no time at all.

Once he finished, he wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, staring at Astarion with a smug grin.

“There you go,” he said. He waved the empty bottle towards him as evidence. “All finished.”

“Good,” Astarion said, his arms crossed over his chest. “Now, strip.”

“My, my,” Zevran purred, “if this is the kind of treatment I receive every time, then maybe I should get injured more often.”

“Try it, and I'll just have to punish you myself.”

“You promise?”

Astarion barked out a laugh at that.

“Oh, you are a delight, aren't you?” He waved a hand at him dismissively. “Do be a good boy and get undressed so that I can tend to your wounds as you requested.”

“And you'll stay for the bath?”

“I'll stay for the bath,” he promised. “One can never be too clean around these parts, after all.”

Yes, definitely the only reason he was sticking around.

Zevran watched him knowingly.

Nevertheless, he chimed, “Exactly! Glad we are in agreement! Now, if you don't mind—” Tossing aside his empty potion bottle, he toyed with the clasps on his armor instead. “I think that I could use your assistance, yes?”

With a fond shake of his head, Astarion approached. Brushing aside Zevran's hands, he started to slowly undo the clasps, taking note of the areas where the leather failed him, split open viciously deep.

“Count yourself lucky, my lovely Zevran,” Astarion told him. “It's not often that I offer my services free of charge; but for you, I shall make an exception.”

“What an honor, indeed.”

They peeled away armor and fabric, layer after layer, until his chest was bared.

The instant the right side of his torso was revealed to him, Astarion sucked in a sharp breath of sympathy.

Although Shadowheart's magic did, in fact, take care of the worst of it, Zevran now had several large scars that spanned the length of his side. The skin was puckered, healed over, but the gashes were unmistakably those of claws, having raked deep through the tissue.

That wasn't even taking into account his shallow breaths.

“Hurt your ribs?”

“Won't be the first time,” Zevran grunted. “Won't be the last. In a way, I can't help but to admire that hag's ruthless spirit. She saw a weakness, and she took advantage, worsened an injury already there. A classic!”

“Yes, well, excuse me if I don't rejoice alongside you,” Astarion said.

Carefully, they stripped him of what armor remained until he stood naked before him.

Without thinking, Astarion's fingertips grazed along the raised skin that interrupted the flow of his tattoos.

When Zevran winced, Astarion started to withdraw.

“Apologies,” he mumbled, but Zevran was quick to place his hand over Astarion's, pressing it firmly against his side.

“Not to worry,” Zevran replied, breathless for a couple of reasons at that point. “A little pain won't kill me, surely.”

Astarion snorted.

Even with his approval, he took to tracing Zevran’s tattoos instead, his lips parted in awe.

Black ink followed the lines and curves of his body, as if made for him, but scars were scattered about more haphazardly, both old and new, big and small.

He was a work of art to be treasured. He was—

“Beautiful.”

Zevran looked up at him in a mixture of shock and amusement

“Heh, Astarion.” Zevran tsked at him. “Are you going soft on me, my dear?”

“Puh-lease,” Astarion teased, “I wouldn't dream of it.”

“No, of course not,” Zevran said. “Now, come here.” He tugged Astarion closer by the waistband of his pants, releasing it only to take the fabric of his shirt in hand. “May I?” At the flash of uncertainty in his eyes, Zevran’s expression gentled. “You should know by now that I would not ask anything sexual of you. I will only accept that attention which you are willing to give.” He reached out to cup Astarion's cheek, the latter leaning into his touch while Zevran’s thumb brushed along the curve of his lips. “Although, I would be lying if I said that I did not wish to experience the feeling of your skin against mine again, yet it need not lead to sex. It would be much like that night we spent together, I imagine.”

“And here I thought that you didn't want to discuss that,” Astarion muttered.

“Do you wish to discuss it?”

It was all so novel, having his wants and needs matter in such a way, but he shook his head in answer.

“Not right now, but maybe… maybe later?” He didn't know where that future talk would take them, but it felt appropriate to avoid closing any doors on the opportunity. “Right now, I think that I want what you are offering.”

“You ‘think’?” Zevran asked.

“I know,” Astarion clarified.

“Whatever you want.” Zevran took his shirt in hand again, not wasting a second more as he untucked the fabric from his pants. “Not worried about the others interrupting?”

“I think you made it clear with your whole ‘he's going to help me bathe’ remark that they might want to give us some distance for the time being,” Astarion said. “Very subtle approach, by the way.”

Zevran chuckled.

“Well, you certainly helped clear the area by making all of your angry vampire faces at them.”

“Ha! Yes, there's that, too, I guess.”

As Zevran eased his shirt up along his chest, Astarion lifted his arms above his head to help him slide it off the rest of the way. Next came his boots, followed by his pants and his underwear.

It didn't take long before he, too, was laid bare in the golden sunlight. And while there was a familiar sense of vulnerability in the act, Zevran made him feel… safe.

Ironic, really. The assassin, of all people, making him feel safe.

However, all doubts dissipated the instant Zevran’s fingers caressed his skin.

He was careful, gentle. He kept his promise, not trying for anything more, and that alone meant the world to Astarion.

Zevran watched his hands move along the outline of his shoulders, down the length of his arms, and across the expanse of his chest. He traced nonsensical patterns into his skin that only he could see, sometimes applying enough pressure to knead any lingering tension away.

So, while Zevran was watching his hands, Astarion was watching Zevran. Every shift of his expression. How the sunlight brought out flecks of gold in brown eyes. The way blonde strands started coil into loose curls in the humidity.

All Astarion wanted was to get closer.

Without warning, he wrapped his arms around Zevran’s waist and reeled him in until their bodies were pressed flush against each other.

Zevran stared up into blood red eyes, and they stared back, intent yet —dare he say— frightened.

Frightened of how close they were, not just physically, in that moment.

“I—” Astarion trailed off. I'm glad you're okay.

Words that remained unspoken, but Zevran heard them, loud and clear.

He nodded in understanding.

“I know,” he whispered. He wrapped his arms around him in a snug embrace. “I'm here.”

“Yes, you are.”

But how long would that last? Would death claim him on their journey? Would he one day hope to return to this Thedas of his?

Rather than entertain those thoughts, Astarion rested his forehead upon his. Their noses brushed, lips only a hair’s width away.

Their breathing mingled until, abruptly, Astarion's stopped. The rise and fall of his chest against Zevran’s ceased.

For a split second, a spike of panic shot through Zevran, but he reminded himself just as quickly that this was a normal occurrence for Astarion.

Ah, the quirks of being undead.

Egotistical as it was, Zevran soothed his worries with the simple reasoning that he quite literally took his vampire's breath away.

Astarion nuzzled closer. His lips brushed along the outline of his cheek.

“Gods, you're so warm,” he praised, pressing a kiss underneath Zevran’s ear.

As he pulled away, Zev shivered in delight, instinctively pressing closer against him, his hands spread out upon his back.

Before he could catch himself, his fingertips started to follow the lines of Astarion's scars.

At first, Astarion tensed at the unexpected touch, eventually relaxing enough for him to continue.

Usually, Zevran wasn't one to intrude, but he had to know.

“Have you ever seen—”

“No.” That lone word rang with a note of finality, one that told Zevran to drop it, to not push his luck.

Then again, when did Zevran ever do what others expected of him?

“Do you want to?”

Before Astarion could question him further, he felt his tadpole start to squirm as Zevran’s reached out to it, telepathic energy resonating between them.

“I can use our tadpoles’ connection, if you'd like,” he offered, but Astarion was already shaking his head.

“I appreciate the thought, but not—” He swallowed thickly. “Not yet. This time alone is for us, not my past.”

“Understandable,” yet Astarion didn't feel him withdraw in the slightest. Instead, Zevran offered an alternative. “How about this then? I can show you, well, you.”

Astarion blinked owlishly at that, but Zevran merely smiled at him, patiently awaiting his response.

“You want to…?”

“Show you how you look!” Zevran exclaimed. Their tadpoles wiggled at the sudden burst of excitement. “You said that you don't remember your face, correct? Well, let me show you. It would be an absolute crime not to catch even a glimpse of an elf as handsome as you.”

Even as a wave of emotion threatened to overwhelm him, Astarion couldn't help but to laugh at the flattery.

“Oh, you and your shallow praise.” Nevertheless, Astarion couldn't look away from him, wide-eyed with disbelief. He spoke at a much softer level, his lips spread into an eager grin. “You'll truly do this for me?”

“Why wouldn't I?” Zevran countered, bumping his nose against Astarion's. “Would you not do the same for me, were I in your shoes, so to speak?”

Honestly, Astarion didn't know how to respond to that.

“You know what, on second thought, don't answer,” Zevran said, the silence deafening. “Let me live in the fantasy for a little while longer. In answer to your question, however, yes. I will do this for you, my dear.”

Astarion opened his mouth and closed it, at a loss for words.

All he could manage was a simple, “Thank you.”

Nowhere near enough to convey what he was feeling, but Zevran didn't mind in the slightest, brushing off such sentiment.

“Trust me, it's no problem at all,” he said.

Both of them took a moment to prepare themselves.

Their eyes slid closed, they steadied their breathing, and then Zevran’s tadpole reached out to Astarion's once more. The threads of their minds started to fuse together until they formed a bridge between the two.

Their thoughts, their senses, their emotions.

All of it was shared through their connection, waves of psionic energy pulsating in tune with each other.

There was a single beat before Zevran opened his eyes, and Astarion saw the world as he did.

A split second past where he had to adjust to the sun's blinding light, the blurred edges of a face slowly but surely smoothing out to take shape. What was only an instant stretched on into an eternity as Astarion waited with bated breath, time seemingly drawn out the more impatient he grew.

He kept his eyes shut, his breath held, to focus only on the inevitable reveal.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait much longer.

Golden rays faded into the background.

A headful of silver curls was the first thing he saw.

After that, there was the arch of his eyebrows in matching grey tones, followed by dark shadows that laid beneath his eyes, stark against pale skin.

There was so much to take in.

Everything from the slope of his nose to the angle of his jaw to the curve of his lips captivated him.

He was all but enthralled by the time Zevran’s hands entered into view.

His touch was so light, so adoring, far beyond what he deserved.

Zevran smoothed out the furrow in Astarion's brow, soon brushing errant curls back behind pointed ears. He traced along his jawline, down to his neck, where he pressed the pads of his fingers against his bite marks.

Astarion swallowed, fixated on the sight.

“There you are,” he mumbled, right before he opened bright red eyes. The resulting sensation was rather disorienting, seeing through both his eyes and another's at the same time. “There I am.”

He released a small laugh of disbelief.

“It's been so long…”

And while Astarion would happily sit there all day, memorizing every last detail, he knew that all good things must eventually come to an end.

Before he could get too caught up in the moment, he mentally withdrew, severing their tadpoles’ bond.

“I can't thank you enough,” he told him. “I—” He averted his gaze and cleared his throat, unexpectedly bashful. “I'm supposed to be the one taking care of you right now.”

“Well, by all means,” Zevran hummed, “don't let me stop you.”

Flashing him a rare, genuine smile, Astarion left Zevran with another healing potion, retrieving a nearby bucket as he made his way towards the river. Once the bucket was full, he returned to Zevran's side. There, he dug through their supply pack and tossed a couple of sponges and soap bars into the water.

As soon as the sponge made contact with his skin, Zevran jumped out of reach.

“Easy!” he yelped, staring at Astarion as if he had committed some sort of grave crime. “That's cold! Surely you can heat it up with a spell, yes?”

“What?” Astarion teased. “Can't stand a little chill, can we?”

Not that Astarion had much room to talk, but that didn't stop him from joking at Zevran’s expense.

“No, and I am not ashamed to admit it,” Zevran said. “Now, please, have mercy on me, good ser.”

“Oh, alright,” Astarion sighed, “but only since you said ‘please.’”

With a wave of his hand and a simple incantation, the water warmed at his command. He even went through the effort of soaking the sponge again, working the soap into a lather.

“What a kind soul you are,” Zevran commended. “A true gentleman, if there ever was one.”

“Mm-hmm…”

Taking Zevran by the hand, Astarion pulled him close. He started with his face first, washing away flecks of blood as he scrubbed his way along Zevran's body.

The potions worked their magic in the meantime. Right before his very eyes, Astarion watched scratches heal and bruises disappear.

By the time he was wrapping up, Zevran reached down and plucked the spare sponge out of the bucket. He took to returning the favor, washing Astarion off, bit by bit.

Radiant sunlight warmed their bodies.

Droplets of water clung to their skin.

It wasn't long before they set to work on washing each other's hair, lost in the sensation of fingers tangled within the strands, nails lightly scraping against their scalps.

Both were left with their hair in a disarray —a mixture of soft, frizzy, and fluffy.

After they were done bathing, Astarion took the time to apply a salve to Zevran's latest scars. Not only was it supposed to relieve any pain at the site itself, but it also numbed the surrounding area as well.

With those matters settled, they left their mess behind them —a problem to deal with later— as they snuck their way back into camp.

Fortunately, nobody crossed paths with them on the way, and they were able to enter Astarion's tent, undetected.

Maneuvering around the empty jars of blood, Zevran proved quick enough to steal Astarion's spare shirt before he could reach it. He slipped it on without hesitation, the loose, white fabric falling right below the curve of his ass.

The ruffles along the neckline framed his chest, the laces left mostly undone, highlighting the length of his neck.

Astarion stared, captivated by the sight of him.

Especially by the sight of Zevran in his clothing.

Zevran made room upon the bedroll, an addition to Astarion's tent that he insisted upon, and spread himself out on it with a knowing smirk. Blonde hair framed his head like a halo, Zevran crooking a finger at Astarion to beckon him forward.

In the blink of an eye, he hovered over him, Astarion stealing a brief, albeit passionate kiss.

Their lips parted.

Zevran searched his gaze and asked in a small, quiet voice, “Will you hold me? Like you did that night?”

Astarion brushed stray hairs out of his face, then gave him another peck.

When he was with him, he didn't feel the need to don his mask as often.

Even so, he scoffed and rolled his eyes, sparing Zev an affectionate smile.

“How could I say no?”

It took a bit of adjusting on their part, but Astarion eventually settled in behind Zevran, wrapping his arms around him.

“Hmm…” Zevran snuggled deeper into his embrace. “Who would have guessed that the big, bad vampire would take such good care of me?”

Burying his face into the crook of his neck, Astarion pressed a kiss above where Zevran's pulse beat strongest.

“Don't mention it,” he said. After all, he had a reputation to uphold.

In response, Zevran lined up their fingers before tangling them together.

“Whatever you say, my love.”

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #dragon age #dao #astarion #astarion ancunin #zevran #zevran arainai #zevstarion #crossover #bluerose writes #iffy about posting my full fics here #but oh well i wanted to share

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sabbathbloodysabbeth · 3 months

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Ok so I know that I just did a poll for what to focus on but I really just need to get this Drabble out and then I’ll focus so hard on my Eddie Big Bang fic.

Anyway! I’ve been thinking about false positives and how that could correlate in presenting in the omegaverse. Like it’s rare but it can happen.

For example Steve Harrington has been forced to go to the doctors every month to take a hormone test to see if he’s going to present as an omega, beta or an Alpha. His parents desperately want an Alpha and are taking every opportunity they can to ensure Steve will be one. His father, an alpha, is purposely scenting Steve every morning before he goes to school. His mother had taken pills when she was pregnant with him and makes him lunches that have strong testosterone levels. It’s now getting to the point where he’s getting close to being able to predict what he’s going to be and it’s a very stressful time.

So when he goes to the doctor and the test finally comes back positive to him show casing alpha hormones he’s relieved. His parents throw a party to celebrate, and when they realize their efforts worked they return to disappearing on business trips. Leaving for weeks on end. Now, all they have to do it wait for Steve to present, but they already know Steve’s going to be an alpha so it wouldn’t be productive to be home when that happens.

Though their plans sort of back fire and Steve hasn’t presented on time. He’s extremely late while his peers all proudly announce their secondary genders. He’s a little disappointed but knows he doesn’t have long to wait. So he decides to throw a party for his friend Chrissy. Who just presented and is the first Alpha female in Hawkins ever. Even though that’s not what her mother wanted, who purposely did similar things to Chrissy as Steve’s parents did to him. They actually both bonded in the doctors room because of it.

So that’s how the both of them find themselves sitting across from Eddie Munson, who had also recently presented as an Alpha. They wanted to have pot there, Steve really enjoyed getting wasted and stoned at the same time. Chrissy just didn’t care, it was a huge party. So they offer to include Eddie in the celebration, as he just presented and hasn’t really thrown a party.

He declines.

Neither Chrissy or Steve see or talk to him until the party. Chrissy had been so busy that she didn’t notice Steve not feeling to hot. Or the way he stands next to Robin Buckley, an omega from band, and has the best conversation ever. Between feeling the most comfortable he has ever smelt under her smell, and feeling like he just met his long lost friend something shifts. His stomach cramps up, his chest grows sore and he feels over heated.

He has to step away from the party before anyone notices. Steve’s pretty much having a panic attack on the stump hidden in the woods when Eddie finds him. His scent smelt a lot stronger than it had at the picnic table. And now that Steve thinks about it he hasn’t been able to really smell anyone until he started to talk with Robin.

Steve doesn’t want to ruin Chrissy’s party, nearly going into distress about that. He knows she deserves this but his entire body hurts.

Eddie sits next to him and without thinking carefully rubs his shoulders. It’s best that everyone presents with only their family members, but Steve didn’t have anyone and he was scared. He’s lost in a haze and being wrapped in one of the best smells and being lead to a van. He doesn’t know what’s happening but Eddie seems a smidge freaked out as Steve’s body temp keeps raising higher and higher.

They somehow find themselves at the Henderson. Dustin’s mom was a nurse and would know what to do. Immediately Steve is taken care of. Eddie is forced to stay, just in case as he was the only alpha in the house and Claudia may need him.

Steve is pretty much stripped to his boxers, and both Eddie and Claudia think he’s about to present as an Alpha. He’s showing the signs of it up until the middle of the night and something in his body completely shifts. His scent changing from the hickory to a soft sunflower. He watches in real time as Claudia goes from being tensed up from the alpha smell to relaxing from the scent change. Her eyes are beginning to droop as she tries to take care of him.

“Dear I think you have the best scent I have ever smelt in my twenty years of being a nurse.” She admits. She’s changing the care routine, quickly grabbing scents that she things Steve would want. But is quick to realize Steve’s mumbling about two people he smelt at the party. One being Robin, who started all of this.

Claudia doesn’t waste a second and forces Eddie to go get her. An hour passes and Eddie comes back with Robin who is confused as to why she is needed. Unlike Steve she hadn’t smelt Steve and knew he had to be an important to her. But when she walks in the room and takes one small sniff she knows immediately and is quickly wrapped around Steve before Claudia can stop her.

It’s not uncommon for omegas to bond with each other, what is uncommon is for how hard Steve and Robin bond. Steve is quick to toss on a tank top, not wanting Robin to have to curl next to him shirtless. He’s already feeling himself calm down.

Then comes Eddie. Who pops his head in to say he might have it go. Before he can he gets a whiff of Steve and is quickly red in the face and stumbling over his words. He’s not allowed to stay, as he was an alpha. So instead he gives Steve his battle vest without a second thought and dips.

The presenting process goes a lot smoother after that. Steve is clearly an omega and has a lot to figure out. But for now, he’s happy with Robin, Claudia and even bonding with Dustin. Claudia’s son, who hasn’t had another omega in the household in a long time. Steve accidentally claims him as a pup in the process but Claudia doesn’t mind.