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umbralaether · 7 months

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He wants another taste.

Beasts, goblins, and the occasional bandit were fine and well— but every time the scent of her blood hit the air he just wanted another drop of it. That rich, succulent sweetness coating his tongue, the surge of vitality coursing through him… the memory alone is enough to make his mouth water. It was a rush, invigorating, the way he could feel her pulse hammer away in his own body— something still unmatched, seeing as most other creatures he fed from were knocking on death's door soon after.

He thinks of the first time he'd fed from her; how the nightmare had driven him to it. Constantly starved, Cazador made it clear that it was 'eat the rat and be grateful' or suffer. Never in his two hundred years as a spawn did he know what he was missing, never given the freedom to try. If the tadpole let him walk in the sun… maybe it would allow him this small defiance, too.

And it did.

He never expected her to agree, to simply ask that he not kill her in the process. Practical, to the point… and he wasn't about to say no to something he so desperately wanted. If he had been too eager, or hasty, she hadn't complained—even when bruises bloomed the next day where his fangs had been, visible even on her blue-grey skin.

Instead, her gaze when he had pulled away made his insides do a flip; there was no fear or disgust behind those eyes, they were soft, kind. Not even the slightest bit annoyed. Caught off guard, he had made a quick exit. Whatever he felt, it was unfamiliar; much better to ignore it and enjoy his newfound freedom to taste the blood of their enemies, now that he could.

He never liked goblins, nasty enough on the outside to ensure the same quality blood— a dirty, sour tang lingering in the back of the throat. They were better tasting than the bland, watery blood of lesser beasts but not at all preferable. Other humanoids were satisfying yet still lacking something he could not quite place. Was it their fear, their hatred, that made the blood taste…off?

Either way, there was nothing quite as sweet as her.

When they reach the Underdark, he realizes quickly that wildlife is more scarce compared to the surface, and what does live is deadly. He's careful to consume what he can from the foe that befall them, but he knows eventually he'll need a better plan.

Seducing her the first time had worked well enough in a pinch, so why wouldn't it work now?

He waits for her to come to him, flipping through a random book he'd picked up, not really reading the words. The others have already gone to sleep by the time she comes to sit by him at his tent. He can't help but notice the way she glows under the lighting of the local fungi; she's all but radiant, Drow bloodline clearer than ever.

“Here's my little treat, with their cheeks all flushed,” he lets the words drip from his tongue, “You will come to my bed tonight, won't you?”

She blinks, hesitating for a moment, “A little treat, am I?”

It's not an outright refusal, so he pushes further— spinning more web as he tries to entice her, fancy little phrases he's perfected over decades. Say the right thing, and you can convince just about anyone to come to bed with you. He succeeds in breaking her stoic expression, a small smile forming as he tries out line after line. Only the last one causes her face to twitch ever so slightly.

Still, she seeks him out-- a soft caress eagerly welcomed and another night is spent indulging his whims. He tries to enjoy it, wants to enjoy it, yet her question still sticks in his mind. Did these really work on Cazador's targets?

Truth be told, his talents had worked on her. Easily, in fact.

So why did it sting to hear her say it? Was she not his target all along? Had he not done his best to sidle up beside her, not unlike a snake looking for warmth? Was he just what Cazador made him to be?

Was this… all he could be?

He flees from her warm embrace again come morning, the disgust with himself nipping at his heels. He didn’t need her blood, didn’t deserve it offered so sweetly to him. He could get by on his own, never have to face the fondness he now felt for her.

Or so he thought.

If there was one thing he'd learned about the Shadow Cursed Lands was how sparse of life it truly was. There was nothing alive outside the small pockets of safety, and by the time they make it to the Temple of Shar it’s been two nights with almost nothing but undead. He pushes the discomfort aside, knowing worst case scenario he can return to feeding on the many rats he's seen around the place.

The thought alone is enough to make his stomach churn. He’d sooner starve than resort back to the very thing Cazador favored feeding him.

When they break for camp, there's a headache forming along his temples, destined to worsen. It makes him weary, senses dulling. He retires to his tent early, planning to spend the evening meditating on the memory of her blood. It's a masochistic sort of thing, reminding himself of the rich flood of life along his taste-buds, but it passes the time and if it drives him a little mad, who's to know?

He doesn’t anticipate her coming to him so soon, and almost doesn’t hear her ask to come in. He sits up, the ache in his body reasserting itself as her scent fills the air. She sits down beside him, hugging her knees.

For a moment, they only look at each other.

“Darling, what's brought you to me tonight?”

“I’ve noticed how few things are… living around these parts,” She trails off, almost as if she’s uncertain of her next words, “And you haven’t come to feed from me since… the Underdark.”

A pause. She's referring to that night they'd spent together, where he'd left abruptly and with no explanation, even if she doesn't say it aloud.

“That was a few days ago, now,” She’s dancing around her true question, the real reason she’s here.

“I— there’s nothing for you to be concerned about, darling,” he puts on his best performance, “Plenty of rats around here, I'll be fine. Now, is that all you wanted to ask me?”

She frowns, “You know I care about you, right? And I can tell you're making yourself suffer, though I couldn't tell you why.”

Her question hits him square in the chest. It's as if she can see right through him, right to his core. Somehow able to unravel everything he's tried to keep hidden. He keeps his voice steady, even if what he says is a lie, “I haven’t a clue what you mean.”

“I want you to know you don't owe me anything,” She reaches for one of his hands, her grip light as she carefully caresses it, “You feeding from me… it's never been something you've had to earn. It was never transactional, not for me. I do admit the only reason I didn't bring this up again sooner was because you seemed so… upset after the last time.”

Upset only at myself, he thinks. He feels too seen. Suddenly the air around him feels too thick, too hot. He exhales a shaky breath, “I… was never upset with you.”

He sees her relax the slightest bit, “I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do, Astarion. But I also can't sit idly by when I know you haven't fed in days.”

He doesn't know how she can be so certain of herself, how she could be so… thoughtful, “Here I was thinking no one would notice,” Her hand in his is like an anchor, “What gave me away?”

She shifts, clearly embarrassed, “Oh. Well… your ears flush pink when you feed. Most of your skin does, in fact, but the ears are most telling.”

Its not at all what he expected to hear. He clearly wouldn’t know what she means, having no reflection and all, but he's seen the way her own skin flushes at his touch and it can't be all that different.

“I think its… cute.” She murmurs. Her gaze is still as warm as ever, and he can't help but drink in what she says. The compliment cradles him, and he gives in to her unspoken request.

She cares about him.

He moves himself closer, straddling her lap. He'd make sure this time was perfect, despite the hunger— there would be no bruising, no wince of pain when his fangs pierced through. His breath ghosts along her delicate throat, finding her pulse point almost instantly. Cupping the back of her head to keep her in place, he ever so softly presses his lips to her skin.

They groan in unison, when he sinks his teeth in.

The relief is instant. The aching need ebbs away, warmth and satisfaction taking its place. She runs her fingers through his hair, and he shivers with the feeling. He wants to drown in this pleasure, in the very thing that gives him life. Her blood seems to almost…tingle against his tongue, and its then he sees the familiar blue glow of a restoration spell.

“Feed as much as you want, love. I've got you.”

It rises slowly, the realization that this is what he's been chasing all along— that feeling of safety. She never once looked at him like he was a monster, even that first night when he truly had been, almost drawing her life to a close. She had held her end of the bargain all this time, protecting him. He thought he'd had the upper hand in the beginning, weaving her into his web. Instead, she went and turned that all upside down.

He feels dazed. Drunk, even. Another flash of blue as she replenishes her life force a third time. He's never truly fed this much, not on a thinking creature. He lets go, sitting back heavy-eyed. He feels… content, cozy. Blissful, even. It rivals all other pleasures he's had in the past two centuries.

She's looking at him again, with the same soft gaze, “Do you want me to go?”

Too good to him, as always. “You can stay, if you want to.”

“Are you sure?”

The buzzing all along his nerves almost drowns her out as he lays back on his bedroll, “Hmmm, I think so.”

She lays down beside him, sliding her arm under his body to hold him close. He doesn't need sleep, but the drowsiness remains.

For once, he stays.

Inspired by a post I saw from @troublesomemonsters ✨

#this possessed me for days #don’t perceive me #my writing #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #ship: love me tender #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion ancunin #baldur’s gate 3 #Astarion x female tav #bg3 astarion #astarion #oc x astarion #tavstarion

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