Archive of Our Own

So, they’d killed the child of a god.

That was something.

Ambitious? Stupid? Funny? Astarion couldn’t decide what it was most. The necromancer was no more, - at least for the time being - Shadowheart was now the Chosen of her dark goddess, and Ketheric Thorm was a delicate flower once again, ready to be plucked.

They held the winning hand, all they had to do was play the cards.

Astarion’s leg bounced and he fidgeted with the ruffles of his shirt. It was unseemly to debase himself and his carefully curated aura in such a way, but if he didn’t move somehow, Astarion was quite positive that he would lose his mind.

The campfire crackled beside him as he laid next to it, just as it had every night previous they had set it up. In fact, from the outside, you might assume this was just like any of those other nights. Lae’zel sharpened her sword. Shadowheart was off brooding somewhere, probably praying extra hard tonight. Wyll was chopping vegetables while Karlach gave terrible culinary advice at his side. Gale was looking…rather depressed, actually. Might explain why the two resident puppy dogs had taken his place as cook. They all had their habits.

It was all disgustingly, infuriatingly normal.

In fact, the only piece out of place was their dear, sweet, stupid leader, who was conveniently missing in action.

Tav exuded command, and didn’t even need to try. One look and you knew your place - a pawn in his design. None of the others had ever thought twice about him in his place as their commander, for it was simply the natural order of things, to follow where he led. They were all strong in their own right, of course, but the truth was that it was as simple as natural selection.

Astarion was different, naturally. He would never bow to the man, and Tav would never ask him to. A perk of their…arrangement. Their partnership. And whatever else that meant.

But still, Astarion had never thought to question his authority. Not until Tav had looked down at the corpse of immortality and decided Yes, this would be the perfect time to go to bed. That’s what sane people do.

And here they were. Relaxing at camp while their advantage slipped away like grains of sand through their fingers. How? Because despite Astarion’s protests, Tav had stared him down and repeated his command. Astarion had been ready to continue his protests, insist until the incorrigible man saw sense.

But he didn’t. Astarion had seen something in Tav’s eye. Something that unsettled him. Something that he didn’t like.

Astarion had seen anger from Tav more times than he cared to count. The man inhaled hate, exhaled malice. Bloodlust dripped off of him in place of sweat.

But Astarion had never seen hatred before.

No, that was new.

And it unsettled him, more than he liked.

Astarion huffed and stood up, arms tensed at his sides as he surveyed the campsite around him.

The man Astarion had been when he’d awoken from the nautiloid would not have paused. He would have demanded they march to Moonrise towers, petty personal feelings be damned. It didn’t matter what was in their way; If Tav refused to march, he was weak.

But things had changed for him. Tav had changed him, more specifically. It didn't make sense. What should Astarion care if the man hated something? Everyone did. It was the best motivator for survival. Astarion should be glad for it, not…

Astarion’s lip twitched in disgust even at the thought.

He felt sorry for him. Sympathetic, even.

The notion turned his stomach.

Why did it trouble him to know Tav suffered with the same that Astarion did? It was nothing less than anyone deserved.

Astarion gave one last look around the campsite, his fingers twitching with unreleased tension. The others could enjoy their time spent attempting to ignore the inevitable; Astarion had no such plans.

Instead, he intended on finding wherever in the Hells Tav had ran off to and prodding the man until he had an answer - or at least something satisfactory enough.

Astarion stalked off from the campsite, crossing paths with Wyll's station. Astarion snatched one of the vegetables from his pile as he passed. Wyll protested as Astarion walked away, and objected with offense that Astarion didn't care to listen to as Astarion bit into it.

He spat it out into a bush at the first opportunity, once out of sight. A faint smile curled his lips; If nothing else, at least he could get the satisfaction of pissing Wyll off. It was the simple things in life, really.

It was very likely that at the end of this encounter, Astarion would find himself feeling the miserable cocktail of sad, loved, and confused. So, he might as well be prepared, because Tav had the horrible, horrible habit of making Astarion question everything.

All the lessons Cazador had taught him, the necessary truths carved into him throughout centuries of torture and slavery, and the misery of knowing everything good he'd once believed was nothing but a myth. Astarion had experienced all of the pain and misery that this heartless world had to offer, and it never lifted a finger - not for him, not the hundreds of people he’d led to their deaths. And yet, somehow, Tav, who’d seen the world’s cruelty and knew its disgusting heart just as intimately, had somehow managed to worm his way into Astarion’s brain and plant a seed of doubt.

No interaction could be a clean, straightforward ‘Hello, how are you, my sweet? I’m doing just terribly, thank you for asking.’ No no, Tav was allergic to such simplicity. It always had to be ’I love you. You make me feel alive. Let’s sit under the stars and hold hands while devising new, murderous ways to get revenge!’ The romance.

Astarion’s understanding could never just be left alone, he couldn’t just be let think the way he’d used to survive for 200 years. That would be too comfortable, make too much fucking sense. It all had to be questioned, tossed upside down every damn five minutes.

He left Astarion feeling like a frightened little boy who’d lost his way home in the night, all alone in the big, scary streets.

It angered him in equal measure to how much he wished, painfully, hoped beyond hope even when it hurt too much to want for…that it might all be true.

Talking to Tav was more dangerous than whatever awaited them at Moonrise Towers.

He made Astarion think someone might actually care for him.

He made him think that maybe there was such a thing as ‘love,’ beyond power and control. And that worse yet, that Astarion could have it. To claim such a thing…it was too much to hope for.

Astarion found Tav by the grace of the moonlantern’s glow.

He was waist deep in a river, naked, with his arms wrapped around himself. The moonlantern sat upon the riverbank, its circle of light illuminating Tav’s hunched back. The spikes and knobs of Tav’s spine and shoulder blades cast mini shadows over his muscles. Even with the distance and the dark, Astarion could see the tension held in every one.

Astarion knew where to place his hands, how to rub to ease the rigidity away. Astarion knew the way Tav would melt under his palms and sigh into the relief. Tav would press back into Astarion’s hands, and Astarion would chuckle and chide him for being such an easy target. He’d look back with a bastardous smirk, and loll his head to the side to bare his neck.

Like a scene from a book, it played out in his mind, comforting and easy. Astarion batted the thought away, as well as the desire to walk into the water with him, ease his pains away. He was angry, he reminded himself. Act like it.

Tav didn’t turn to face Astarion when he spoke.

“...I know you’re not happy with me.”

His voice carried over the water. Astarion hadn't realized Tav noticed his approach. He sounded…sad.

Astarion eyed Tav’s discarded heap of clothes and plucked them from the ground. Something to busy his hands.

“How’d you know it was me?” he asked while folding the garments, trying to notice or indulge in the vague scent that clung to Tav’s shirt.

“I always know when it’s you.”

Astarion shot him a glare that he couldn’t see. “Perfectly cryptic as always, I see.” Astarion placed the folded garments on a stone and looked to the water. It did not hurt to see Tav like this. Discontented him, maybe. He was slightly unsettled, or perhaps perturbed.

The tiefling’s hands clutched his own sides like a vice, claws digging into his ribs with white-knuckled fervor. Astarion couldn’t see his face.

Astarion didn’t know if he wanted to see his face.

It did not hurt. Even if Astarion knew he could pry away those hands and kiss their bloody knuckles, he did not think about it. He came here for answers, not to comfort.

Astarion waited for as long as he could handle. The river trudged along, swirling around Tav’s body and offering only the slightest trickle of noise to fill the void between them. He sighed and tugged at the laces of his shirt.

His own folded clothes soon joined Tav's, and Astarion waded into the dark water. He hissed as it surged around his lower body, ice cold.

“Shit," Astarion seethed through clenched teeth.

“Water’s cold,” Tav warned.

If looks could kill, my dear-

He reached out to Tav’s shoulder, eager to claim the tiefling’s constant, supernatural heat. Even if whatever bloody dark magic kept his blood running like liquid fire was unpleasant on Tav's side, at least it would provide Astarion with temporary respite now.

Astarion’s displeasure mounted to a high when his fingertips made contact with Tav’s skin and found it cold and clammy to the touch.

For the first time since he’d met him - since tackling him to the ground with a knife at his throat - Tav’s skin did not burn with abnormal heat. Of all the times.

Astarion opened his mouth to voice his indignation, but paused.

Why? Why now?

What’s going on?

Tav turned his head just slightly, enough to peer at Astarion from the peripheral of his good eye. Astarion made sure to glower appropriately back. Even if Astarion was concerned for him, which he wasn’t, Tav didn’t need to know that.

“I was trying to brood in peace,” the tiefling said, the barest hint of amusement in his eye.

Apparently, ‘brooding’ entailed freezing yourself to death and gripping your own flank so tightly it drew blood. Not that it was Astarion’s problem.

“Well, darling,” Astarion said with his fake smile. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before forcing us to make camp whilst we let our advantage run down the drain.”

Astarion regretted the mockery as soon as he saw the lines of Tav's face harden, the coldness in his eye. Of course Astarion would make an ass of himself to the one person who seemingly liked him as soon as the opportunity arose. How very him.

The tiefling turned back away, and though the performative smile stayed on Astarion’s face, he felt the loss like plunging his heart into the abyss.

“I suppose I owe you an explanation,” Tav said.

Astarion should’ve been angry. Offended, even. He should’ve scoffed and belittled him for being such a moronic pain. Weakness should not be rewarded with more weakness.

Astarion looked to the water and watched it ripple around Tav’s hips.

“I-…would appreciate one,” he said, gently. Astarion felt so weak.

It wasn't fair for Astarion to be cruel to him. It was so easy to shut out everyone else - why now was it so hard to? Even as he resisted the anger falling away from him, it dissipated, replaced only with softness. It frightened him.

The water swished as Tav turned, his tail gliding through the dark water as he spun to face Astarion. Astarion didn’t want to look at his face. Didn't want to know what awaited him there.

He’d almost prefer the coldness again, rather than the hate. At least the one, he knew what to do about. At least the one was familiar. He understood it.

Instead, Tav extended his hand in Astarion’s vision - an invitation.

Cautiously, Astarion took it. His hand was cold, too, and it made Astarion realized how much the lack of warmth unsettled him. It itched at his mind like something unsolved, incorrect.

He rubbed his thumb across the back of his hand, but Astarion’s body didn’t have any heat to give either. Though, as he sat there, an ebb of warmth started to bloom. Just below the surface, embers coming back to life.

“I know Ketheric Thorm," Tav said at last. "I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but I know him and he knows me.”

Astarion blinked, processing. Finally, Astarion looked up.

And there it was. That hatred.

“Whatever ruined my brain has to do with him. I could see it in his eyes. When he looked at me…” Tav’s lip curled into a vicious sneer. “He was gloating.”

Gods, Astarion understood that hatred. But seeing it in someone else, in Tav...it made Astarion want to tear Ketheric apart.

Tav wasn’t with Astarion anymore. He stared into the distance, but saw nothing.

Astarion brushed the hair from Tav’s face with a tender hand. Come back to me.

And if Ketheric was a piece of the puzzle, if he was a part of whatever caused Tav's pain, that was very useful information indeed.

All they had to do was pry out what they needed to know by whatever bloody means necessary.

I will kill whoever did this to you.

“We will make him beg,” Astarion said as he tucked the hair behind Tav’s ear. “He’s mortal flesh and blood now, just like the rest of us. We will flay him living and make him talk until you know everything you need to know. And once he’s outlasted his use, I will deliver you his, ugly, beating heart to crush within your fist.” Each word that left his lips was a vow, a promise Astarion would write in blood. They would understand this Dark Urge. And Ketheric would suffer for his part in it.

Tav blinked, his aimless stare coming back into focus. His golden flamed iris glowed in the dark, brimming with boundless emotion. Astarion’s words fell away from him, breath dissipating at the intensity focused there. There was so much anguish, so much pain. Sadness and anger beyond measure, and a lifetime worth of torment from memories he couldn’t access, only feel. But beneath that, buried under it all and shown only in the softness of the lines that decorated his eyes, was care.

Care for Astarion.

Astarion’s petrified heart almost seemed to beat. Even without need for air, his lungs burned, and Astarion could swear he was suffocating.

Ketheric would die a thousand painful deaths.

So, too, would anything that ever got between them again.

“He will never surrender what he knows,” Tav said, quiet and bitter. “But he will bleed. Every moment we sit here is another breath he draws knowing that he will die at my hand.”

“So,” Astarion chuckled. “It turns out your peculiarly-timed strategic play was actually a ploy to draw out the suffering of a man who’s wronged you? Why, darling, I never should have doubted you.” Astarion leaned forward and set his hands on Tav’s chest.

"On my honor, my only motive was bloodlust and misery." Tav smiled, sharp teeth on display.

The softness wasn’t leaving. Even with the murder and hate he was so familiar with, Astarion couldn’t seem to push the affection out. It only grew. He would have to distract them both.

“You could have told me, of course,” Astarion said, feeling the recess of Tav's collarbone.

Tav’s breath stuttered at the touch and his heat returned, a delicate flush beginning to form under his freckles. “I was…struggling, at the time,” he admitted. “I was so focused on Ketheric that I had little brainpower to consider anything else.”

Astarion smoothed his hands upward, over the muscle of Tav’s chest. “Even me?” he asked, low. Tav’s heat had returned full force, and blazed.

Astarion drew in closer, and Tav’s pupil blew wide. He’d promised Astarion they didn’t need to have sex, but even without it, it would be an easy feat to help him forget - all he had to do was lavish attention, and the pain would go away.

Tav’s eyes fluttered shut and his breath shuddered. It was a joy, to reduce such a killer to this, pliant and reactive to Astarion’s touch. With a subject so enamored, this would be easy, even if it was Tav. Astarion didn’t hate doing it as much, anymore, at least with him.

“Well- ehm- I’m most certainly considering you now,” Tav said, breathless, as Astarion grabbed his chin. Simple.

One hand kept Tav still as Astarion brought his smiling lips forward, while the other felt Tav’s heart racing beneath his palm.

Tav’s kiss was desperate, but reserved. Astarion felt him holding back, suppressing the desire to surge forward, to claim. All he needed was a little encouragement to relax. Astarion slipped his tongue forward with well-practiced dexterity.

With a pained breath, the tiefling grabbed Astarion’s wrist and pressed his thumb into the veins there with reserved strength.

“Stop,” he pleaded as he broke away, voice wavering.

Astarion was no fool. Tav wanted him. His heart pounded, his sweat collected against Astarion’s skin. His body held its breath in anticipation.

Body language was something Astarion spoke fluently, and Tav wanted nothing more than Astarion’s touch. In fact, he was struggling with the effort it took to stay still.

Astarion pushed off Tav’s chest, more performative than forceful. Tav didn’t fall back more than a couple inches, but he visibly shrank back at the rejection.

“Why?” Astarion demanded. He crossed his arms over his chest, the residual heat on his skin fading.

Tav’s fingertips ghosted across his chest and chin, where Astarion’s hands had just been. Astarion tracked the motion with his eyes and felt his face go sour.

Why? Why do you dismiss me now?

Frustration bubbled in Astarion. He’d finally found someone who valued him for more than sex, and now he couldn’t even touch him? What good was he to him, then, if he couldn’t do this?

“I said I always know when it’s you,” Tav said, still breathing hard.

“Yes,” Astarion sneered. “Obviously.”

“I know when it’s you, and that-” he said, “was not you.”

Fear rose in Astarion’s chest, unbidden to him.

“Whatever in the Hells do you mean?” Astarion scoffed and switched his hands to his hips. This was too dangerous.

“I’m sorry,” Tav said, then fell quiet. There was more he wanted to say, but left Astarion with only an apology.

Astarion rolled his eyes and looked away with a dismissive sniff. “What for?”

What was there to be sorry about, really?

It was Astarion’s own damn fault for not expecting something to go wrong. He should have known he’d never be enough.

“I don’t…I don’t understand how this works. I don’t know what we are. I don’t know what you want,” Tav said. “But for once in my fucking life, I’m terrified of hurting someone. Of hurting you.”

Astarion’s mouth twisted. Lies.

But they weren't lies, were they?. He knew they weren’t lies.

Why were the words still so hard to believe?

“I refuse to let you use yourself on me like that. I don’t want your performances, Astarion.”

“I can use myself however I damn well please,” Astarion snapped.

“Absolutely not.” Tav’s eyes hardened. “If you want to put on a performance, go find someone else. That’s not what we are now. We’re partners. Equals.” He sighed. “Something real, remember?”

“Right. Which means-”

“It means I care about you, asshole. Not whatever power dynamics bullshit you were about to come up with. This isn’t an exchange. It means I care about you, and you care about me, and you don’t get to put on an act to make me feel better.”

Astarion glared, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Tav glared back, unblinking. It was about as effective as trying to stare down a hydra.

Astarion huffed and looked away. He felt so…small.

Dammit.

An unspoken fear clouded his mind, one that had visited him during many nights spent awake while the others slept. He hadn’t plans of voicing it, but…didn’t Tav deserve to know?

“What if-” Astarion said, quiet. His throat clogged, right with effort. The words came to mind, but to speak them was another matter entirely. That would make them real. He could never take them back.

Astarion squeezed his eyes shut and took a breath. “What if I don’t know how to care about someone as me?”

A second passed in silence before, to his shock, Tav snorted beside him. “My love,” he started, “If you think I have any idea myself, I hate to inform that I’m just as fucked up and broken as you are.”

“And yet you see fit to instruct me.”

“Well, I suppose I could be wrong, but I think mentally disappearing every time you touch me isn’t how this is supposed to work.”

…

It...had merit.

Astarion sighed, defeated.

But what was he supposed to do, then?

Minutes passed. Tav never moved from his spot, barely blinked. They stood in silence with the companionable trickle of water while Astarion’s mind raced.

It shouldn’t have been such a novel idea, Astarion registered distantly. The concept shouldn’t be such a shock. But scrolling through his memories…

“What if…” Astarion thought, trailing off.

Astarion couldn’t remember a single touch that hadn’t been performative, a single time he’d wanted to hold someone without the intention of manipulating them. But right here, before him, was the chance for that to change.

“What if I tried touching you just because I wanted to?” He fixed his eyes on Tav, ready to see…he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know what, only that it would hurt.

Tav’s throat bobbed as he gulped and looked away, face flushing.

“I…think I would like that - if that was what you wanted.”

Relief, joyful and numbing, flooded him. Astarion laughed despite the predicament they were in, and his voice was once again his to use at will. “Well, darling,” he said, a bit flustered. “I’m rather out of practice with knowing what I want,” he smiled, feeling light. “-But let's give it a shot.”

Apprehension and excitement together tingled throughout Astarion as he held one hand in the air, scant inches from Tav’s spined sternum. The tiefling watched him, waiting patiently, and Astarion focused on the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Touch for the sake of intimacy. Safety. Closeness. Could it really be so simple?

Astarion reached out.

Astarion rested his fingertips on Tav’s chest with the lightest touch, like it was a sin. Apprehension lit his nerves.

Nothing changed. Tav didn’t move. He didn’t try to take, now that Astarion had given.

There was no Cazador to punish him for his boldness, for having the audacity to try to hold something dear. The river trickled on around them, and warmth, inviting and gentle, seeped into the pads of his fingers braced against Tav’s heated skin.

Astarion pressed his palm down. He felt the heartbeat of his lover, as he had a dozen times before. Now, though, it felt somehow…different. Not physically - it hummed along in Tav’s chest. The connection had changed. Palm to soul, it felt like a part of Astarion, too. Tav’s heart beat for both of them - another life, entangled with his.

It reminded him of a memory, both of action and of feeling.

The night when Tav had hugged him.

He’d expected a trick - a lure or a ploy to manipulate him. Astarion felt Tav’s strong arms wrapping him and had panicked like a wild animal feeling the snare around its neck.

But they didn’t constrict.

They didn’t even wander, either, hungry for his body. They didn’t expect anything when they held him. Tav had just buried his face into Astarion’s neck and held him tight. For the first time in centuries, Astarion let his guard down and hadn’t been punished for it.

In those arms, he’d gathered the courage to allow himself to feel safe.

Perhaps he could be brave again.

Astarion let his hands fall over Tav’s sides, starting at the top of his ribs and descending, savoring the feeling of each spine and toned muscle underneath his touch. He committed it all to memory - the feeling of soft skin, and the bony ridges of spines. Tav’s lean muscle and how he shivered almost imperceivably when Astarion’s fingers ghosted his sides. It was invigorating, to touch without expectation. Intoxicating to hold where he wanted to feel.

At Tav’s waist, he paused. Beneath the empowerment and desire, though, was the undercurrent of dread.

It was almost too much to ask for, too much to try and overcome. The barrier could be left unbroken and Astarion would never have to know what lay beyond. Stop, apologize, play it off - leave and he’d never have to fear what awaited him beyond a boundary that offered no return.

Tav’s eyes awaited him when Astarion looked up. They were everything he’d never thought he’d see - gentle, patient. They accepted. They reassured. They cared.

Astarion could damn him, damn him to the Hells and back, for being such a ruthless killer but still somehow a soft lover. This would all be so much simpler if he was actually as horrible as he seemed. Instead of the easy to manipulate, obsessive maniac Astarion had expected of him, Tav had turned out infuriatingly wonderful.

Astarion was stuck with possibly the best thing that had ever happened to him, and part of him still wanted to throw it away. It would hurt too much when it was taken by force. Better to leave now, on his own terms. Let Tav hate him, if it meant Astarion wouldn’t have to fear.

Or…

Astarion could try to trust.

He watched as Tav’s eyes flickered over his features, cataloging every divot and crease of Astarion’s face with meticulous care.

The ground beneath Astarion’s feet was no longer the ground he knew. He didn’t know if the next step would be met with solid stone or a plummet into the abyss. It was too much to ask for.

Tav had trusted him, though. A stupid, stupid thing to do, but he’d done it.

…Could he do the same?

Astarion’s fingers twitched at Tav’s waist. He didn’t know if he could. It was a choice he’d never be able to take back, no matter how it ended. Yet, he yearned for what Tav offered, the promise of a greater desire, beyond the flesh.

Didn’t he deserve more than stolen affection from manipulated feelings? Didn’t Tav? After all this time - he could have something real.

“Something real. I want us to be something real.”

If he could trust in him, there was a chance.

He would try.

For the both of them, Astarion would try.

His arms slid up Tav back, and he pressed his face into the tiefling’s shoulder. It was warm there, safe. There was warmth everywhere, surrounding him. Against his chest and his hips, at his ear where Tav pressed his mouth, around the small of his back as Tav’s arms wrapped around him in turn.

Everywhere Astarion was, so was that heat, embracing him.

It surrounded him with cinders that singed the darkness away. It would hold him as long as he needed it to, until the world fell down.

Astarion felt the pricks of moisture around his eyes, born from the overwhelming sensation of safety. So much terror gripped him, tried to turn his mind, that it manifested like a knot in his chest. It was so unfair, to feel so afraid when he finally felt safe. How dare he have something to fear losing, after everything he’d done. After everything that had been done to him.

Astarion lost track of how long they spent there. It could have been hours. Eventually, Tav pulled back, just slightly. They were still locked together, Tav’s arms braced around Astarion’s waist, but they could see each other.

“We should probably get dressed and go back, “ Tav said, between them.

Astarion’s knot grew heavier. He untangled an arm from Tav’s back to trace his finger across Tav’s bottom lip. “I think those are, without a doubt, two of the worst ideas you’ve ever had. And I, ah- well.” Astarion brought one shoulder forward with a playful smirk. “I’m rather enjoying myself.”

Tav chuckled. “Let’s at least get out of this water, still. Not that being naked and wet will be much of an improvement.” He stepped back, hand sliding over Astarion’s skin and over the underside of his arm, until coming to and taking hold of Astarion’s hand.

Astarion’s instinct was to tell a lewd joke, but he suppressed the impulse. Instead, he swallowed the lump that formed there.

“Couldn’t you just magic it away somehow?” He said, “Like how Shadowheart has that one spell.”

Tav led Astarion by the hand to the shore. Water fell over him in rivulets as he rose from the river, and he shivered as the cold air hit his wet skin.

“I don’t even know who my patron is, love. I doubt they would take kindly to me calling upon their powers to destroy water so that my boyfriend can have a dry ass.”

Astarion stepped foot on the shore and crossed his arms. The moonlantern’s light would do wonders with his wet body, gleaming in all the right ways. “Nothing wrong with a little bit of mischief, is there?” he asked, innocent.

Tav snorted and knelt beside their folded clothes, eyes not stopping even once over anything below Astarion’s waist. “I have fire,” he said, plainly, “Do you want fire?”

Tav conjured a flame in his palm and offered it outwards. Astarion winced.

“Perhaps not.”

Tav’s self-satisfied smirk was apparent, even with his face turned to the side. Smug bastard. Astarion wanted to kiss him. He also hated the idea of returning, now that he’d achieved this.

Astarion approached Tav and crouched down, setting one knee down to the ground and guiding Tav’s face towards him.

“Let’s just stay here for a while,” he said, thinking of the prying eyes back at camp. He didn’t want to leave this moment, not yet.

“I won’t be cold, if you’re here to hold me,” he said, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

Tav smiled up at him with soft eyes, and brushed the back of his fingers against Astarion’s cheek. It felt nice.

“Alright, then,” he said. “Let’s stay.”

Astarion grabbed his hand and kissed every knuckle. Then, he grabbed his wrist and pulled Tav forward, til their faces almost met.

“Thank you,” Astarion whispered, and kissed him.