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It all starts, innocently enough, with a fleeting thought.
He is a pretty man . You’re not sure Astarion would like to be called pretty, but you don’t voice the thought and think that no harm is done.
Wrong .
The memories of the night you spent together resurface with a vengeance, making you swallow hard. Your fingertips tingle, craving his skin, and you hold your breath as you catch up with him.
He turns to face you, alerted by the crunchy leaves under your boots. A smile is forming on his lips, but you are quicker—you place a hand on his shoulder for purchase and lean in to kiss him.
You don’t need grief from Shadowheart and Lae’zel, so you keep it soft, you keep it brief.
He stops in his tracks as you smile against his skin. Your heart throbs in your chest—does he want more?
But his face is a pale mask of disdain, and his eyes are burning . Not with passion.
Cold, calculating rage twists his features as he digs into your mind.
You wince as your skull splits open—metaphorically, but damn, it hurts —and Astarion browses your most recent memories.
He is a pretty man and he is mine.
I want to kiss him.
He severs the connection himself, in disbelief. At least, you think it’s disbelief.
Then his shoulders relax and a ghost of a smile makes his lips curl. The rage is still there, barely visible, but he masks it well.
“Perhaps you’d best set camp nearby. I need to…” You know enough about him to understand that he is buying time for himself. “I need some fresh air.”
Nevermind the fact that you are in the middle of a forest.
He turns quickly, before you can read his face, and briskly walks away.
You let him.
Shadowheart approaches you with a cocked eyebrow. “Are you hurt?”
Lae’zel simply produces a sound of disgust.
*
You find a small clearing and drop your bag by the others. You let them pick something small to eat while on the road, while you take out your weapon.
You don’t know where Astarion went, if he’s still mad with you—why would he? Why would he not ?—but you’re not about to give up on your small tradition.
He should eat with everybody else, and if that means hunting a small animal and incapacitating it so that the vampire can feed… so be it.
You set your eyes on a deer and mark it as your quarry.
The deer lies, sleeping, in the middle of the clearing. You’re sitting on the ground, munching on some bread, when Astarion joins your side. The spring in his step tells you that all is well once again.
He eyes the deer up, smiles appreciatively, and then turns towards you.
You recognize that impish smile.
“That was sweet of you, but today I’m in the mood for something more…” His grin grows bigger after the pause. “More filling.”
He doesn’t look mad anymore, and you’re not sure you should acknowledge his previous outburst right in this moment.
You definitely shouldn’t.
What you are looking at is a peace offering. You accept it by tilting your head and revealing your neck to him, just like you did days ago.
He falls to his knees and frames your head with his hands.
You hold your breath in.
You await the sharp, cold feeling of his fangs piercing your skin, but instead find his face buried in your neck, his lips closed and still.
“I am no more yours than you are mine.”
His thumb strokes your cheek.
“You best remember it.”
Then he strikes. He presses you against the tree and bites, making you whimper in surprise.
He seems to like it—and so do you. Once the pain turns into warm numbness you lose yourself in his arms, thread your fingers through his silver hair. You cradle him gently until you can feel his appreciation pressing against you.
Then, something glimmers at the edge of your field of vision.
Shadowheart weighs her mace in her hands—she’s politely warning you in advance.
You pat Astarion’s shoulder and he parts from you with a dazed look. He licks his lips and mouths a silent ‘thank you’. Judging by the way his eyes are roaming your body, you know just the way he will thank you tonight.
He is absolutely shameless and you love it .
“Well then.” His lips brush against your forehead for a moment—he seems very pleased with himself. “Shall we go?”
Lae’zel is quick to voice her displeasure: “I had no desire to witness that .”
For once, Shadowheart seems to agree with her. “I am afraid we’ll have to get used to it.”