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Tavyll didn't rest well that night, flitting between dreams and nightmares. Troubled by visits from that peculiar entity who claimed to protect him while wearing the face of someone he'd known, along with flashes of memories that were not his mixing with his own recollections of the past, his meditations had been growing increasingly restless, almost making him wish that he could simply allow himself to slip into a deep slumber like his non-elven companions. Maybe it was this feeling that something was amiss, something wrong in the darkness that made him break his meditation, or maybe it was just luck - either way, it led him to slowly open his eyes expecting nothing but the dark sky, only to be met with a pale figure looming over where he laid, fangs bared and drawing closer to his neck.
With the sudden rush of someone who knew to react quickly to an ambush, Tavyll jerked away and instinctively searched for a weapon - his weapons, he should have kept them close, how could he be so careless - just in time to see Astarion startling as he realized he was awake, jolting back with a soft curse.
"...Shit," he muttered, and as Tavyll stood up with uncharacteristic alarm and hostility on his face, he too stood and backed away more urgently, raising his hands. "No, no- it's not what it looks like. I swear."
Tavyll's expression turned incredulous, the apprehension and anxiety in Astarion's voice catching him off guard. It wasn't what it looked like? What the hell did it look like, in the first place? An assassination attempt, a slit throat in the dark - but that seemed like an awfully odd way to do it.
"You'd better have a damn good explanation, then," Tavyll hissed, half crouched, the adrenaline still telling him to be ready to run, ready to strike first.
"I- I wasn't gonna hurt you! I-" Astarion said quickly, breathing picking up like he expected Tavyll to turn aggressive and swing, needing to find something to say before it happened. "I just needed..." he slowed, unable to scramble for an excuse, shoulders slumping slightly in defeat as he admitted, "Well... Blood."
There, in the dim firelight, Tavyll finally saw Astarion for what he really was - the sharp fangs, the deathly pale skin, the blood red eyes. A vampire, a slave to sanguine hunger. Suddenly, he remembered the exsanguinated boar they had come across in the swamp, and how dismissive of it Astarion had seemed - and cursed himself sharply for not noticing sooner. The incident with the illithid parasite had dulled his senses far more than he'd realized, and it could very well cost his life, if he continued to be this slow to put such obvious pieces together. And yet...
Inexplicably, the realization actually made him relax slightly as he studied Astarion's features. Despite not changing the fact that the vampire had tried to ambush him in his meditation, it gave him reasoning beyond a sudden change of allegiance or an attempt to have him killed while vulnerable, something Tavyll himself had been extensively trained to exploit. Astarion hadn't been trying to assassinate him, he had tried to strike out of hunger. And that, at least, made Tavyll more willing to listen to what he had to say.
"...How long has it been since you killed someone? Days? Hours?" he asked slowly. He had not meant for it to come across as accusatory, simply wanting to know the extent of his companion's need for blood - how fresh had the boar's corpse been, again? - but his tone had apparently caused some offense, judging by how indignant Astarion looked.
"I've never killed anyone! Well- not for food," he corrected himself, pursing his lips slightly. "I feed on animals. Boars, deer... Kobolds..." he added in a mutter, as if hoping that speaking it quickly enough would make Tavyll not notice it. "Whatever I can get."
That caused Tavyll to cross his arms, raising an eyebrow. At this point, his posture had mostly straightened, the initial hostility no longer present and instead replaced by an uneasy caution.
"And I fit in with those how, exactly? I don't think I particularly resemble a kobold."
"It's not enough," he shook his head. "Not if I have to fight. I feel so... weak," he frowned, his tone softening, almost strained. But just as fast, his posture shifted, regaining some composure. "If I just had a little blood," he proposed tentatively, "I could think clearer. Fight better. Please."
A strange sensation coursed through Tavyll, and he could feel Astarion's mind unfold, secrets half-revealed. Likely, an attempt to gain his favor, sway him further - or perhaps his own mind had prodded unintentionally, seeking answers through the weird bond they shared. There was still some caution in the way Astarion spoke, and he kept some distance between them, but he seemed less likely to bolt, not unlike Tavyll himself.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked instead, and felt foolish as soon as the words left his mouth. It would have been much easier if Astarion had told him that he'd been feeling weak rather than trying to feed on him during the night, but why should he have trusted Tavyll? Their little group had been formed by unfortunate circumstances and convenience, but nobody fully relied on each other. Tavyll himself didn't particularly care to hide his abilities as a well trained assassin, but he also kept his past close to his chest, as reserved as the others - and it seemed that was the same for Astarion, as he scoffed in response.
"At best I was sure you'd say no. More likely, you'd ram a stake through my ribs," he sounded vaguely hurt at the thought. "No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me," he leaned in closer, his tone much softer, smoother.
Tavyll narrowed his eyes at that, carefully examining Astarion. He very much did not, at least in general, and Astarion's stunt certainly didn't help - but he was willing to believe he was being truthful about his intentions. And, beyond that, he could believe that he really did need blood if they were to be fighting so often. There was something about the way he talked, however, that seemed to appeal for more trust and reassurance than he really deserved. Words coated in honey, expertly and deliberately chosen - Tavyll had seen this before, knew it all too well. In the end, after a moment of silence, he simply sighed.
"...I do. I believe you," he let his arms fall to his sides, not backing away as his companion leaned closer. They both knew that he didn't mean it fully - but it was in the way that Astarion wanted at that moment, and that would be enough.
"Thank you," he said softly, and then paused, seeming to pick his next words carefully, slowly. "Do you think you could trust me just... a little further? I only need a taste. I swear."
Astarion's eyes were pleading, with a hint of barely visible hesitant vulnerability, but it was hard to tell how much of it was genuine and how much was played up to further persuade Tavyll into offering his blood. He bit his lower lip as he considered his options - a bad habit of his, giving away too much when it was best to keep uncertainty hidden - and concluded with some reluctance that as uncomfortable as it might be, allowing his vampire companion to feed on him was likely their best play. He didn't think anybody else in camp would be willing, and if Astarion really was weaker drinking only from animals, he could easily become a hindrance rather than an asset during a fight. It was far too risky.
"...Fine," he said after a moment, crossing his arms. "But not a drop more than you need. It's just a taste," he added quickly.
"Really?" Astarion raised his eyebrows with a smile, sounding genuinely surprised. "I- Ah, of course, not one drop more," he regained his poise, smile turning sly and previous apprehension gone. More confident now that Tavyll had agreed, he gestured towards the bedroll by the fire with a smirk. "Let's make ourselves comfortable, shall we?"
Somewhat awkwardly, Tavyll laid back down on his bedroll, body stiff as he tried to adjust and make himself comfortable while Astarion kneeled next to him. There was yet another reason he had decided to allow the vampire to drink for him, one rather shameful and unimportant, and it was hard to not let it show on his face in the form of a faint violet blush when Astarion leaned his body over him, arms on each side caging him against the ground. Simply put, he wondered what it would feel like to have Astarion's fangs on him, and a part of him he was hesitant to accept imagined it might feel... good. It had already struck him how attractive the pale man was, an alluring charm drawing him in, but this had to be the worst time to let that cloud his judgment, even if just slightly. Still, he could only hope the dim light would allow his blush to slide unnoticed, and brace for the pain that was certain to come.
Baring his teeth, Astarion swiftly leaned in and dug them into the soft skin of Tavyll's neck, and the drow's body instinctively convulsed, his back arching as his face contorted into an expression of pain and a gasp escaped his lips. It was like a shard of ice being thrust into his neck - a quick, sharp pain that faded into throbbing numbness. His breath caught, and his pulse quickened, but as he felt that numbness spread, Tavyll had to quickly cover his mouth to muffle the shaky moan that he choked out, not wanting to alert the others or let Astarion hear it. The pain and weird sensation that followed did feel good, really good, and it was so tempting to lean into Astarion and let him continue drinking him in, but he worried he might not have the mind to stop him before he went too far. With a shaking hand, Tavyll gripped Astarion's shoulder weakly, trying to get his attention.
"That's-" he gasped softly, and then tightened his grip, trying to sound more firm, "T-that's enough, Astarion."
"Mm... Mhm?" Astarion didn't seem to hear him at first, a bit too eager as he savored his meal, but after a brief moment he swallowed a final mouthful of blood and retreated. "Oh- of course," he sounded breathless, though rather pleased.
He backed away from Tavyll and stood a little unevenly, still recovering from the thrill as he panted. Tavyll also attempted to stand, but regretted it immediately as he felt his head spin, edges of his vision going dark for a moment. He knew what blood loss felt like - he'd learned well enough in his old trade, was made to learn - so he opted for simply sitting with his head lowered for a moment, instead of unsteadily trying to stand and falling flat on his face.
"That... that was..." Astarion lifted a finger to the corner of his mouth where a bit of Tavyll's blood had spilled, almost in awe. "Amazing," he concluded softly, mostly to himself, licking his finger to make sure no drop was wasted. "My mind is finally clear. I feel strong, I feel... happy."
Astarion's smile as he said that was the most genuine Tavyll had seen on his face, oddly soft just like his tone and the sigh that followed, and the drow was stunned for a moment. Astarion could weave false softness into his words when trying to be persuasive, that much he had already learned, but this time it felt like an accidental slip - a vulnerable moment he was too dazed to realize he'd let show through the mask. Tavyll bit his lower lip considering what to say, thoughts still muddled from the odd sensations he'd just experienced, and after a few seconds of silence he settled on simply not addressing it at all - not the smile, and not how it made his heart act strangely.
"I look forward to seeing you fight," he ended up saying with a dry smile. "My blood better be worth a few good swings."
"Shouldn't take long. So many people need killing," Astarion replied casually, the moment of softness gone as if it had never happened, and followed his words with a short bow. "Now, if you'll excuse me- you're invigorating, but I need something more... filling."
He turned away, beginning to walk towards the edge of the camp, and Tavyll concluded they were done and turned his attention to his neck, touching the area where he'd been bitten carefully to check if it still bled. However, Astarion stopped, glancing back at Tavyll and seeming to consider his words for a moment.
"This is a gift, you know," he said suddenly, and Tavyll raised his head blinking in surprise. "I won't forget it."
With that, he turned away again, and Tavyll watched as he stalked towards the forest - stronger, more confident, ready to hunt. But what had caught him off guard was how serious he had sounded when expressing his gratitude. It was clear he and Astarion had much in common when it came to clever deceit and fickle allegiances, their words worth just as much as a stab in the back, but the way he had spoken made it tempting to believe Tavyll had gained significant favor by letting him drink his blood. No, not for allowing him to feed - for not digging a rapier into his chest, for not kicking him out and leaving him to fend for himself. For letting him stay.
That, Tavyll could understand deeply. Perhaps he still had to watch his step and tread carefully around Astarion, trusting him as much as he would trust himself, but he knew the gratitude that came of being given a chance you didn't deserve when someone else could have simply dragged a blade across your throat. Laying back down onto his bedroll, he covered his eyes with an arm and sighed, pushing thoughts of her far from his mind and trying to even his breathing in hope of resuming his meditation. He had to clear his head - and self-reflection was a sure way of completely ruining any chance of that.
Yes, it was better not to think of his past, or her, or how he saw a kindred spirit in Astarion. Or the way he'd felt when those teeth had sunk into his neck, and the shiver that'd run across his body as it went numb.
...He really, really wished he could be thrust into unconsciousness at that moment, meditation be damned.