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They were playing a dangerous game and they both knew it.
She knew that he didn’t actually care and was acting entirely on self preservation - something he was constantly telling her she lacked. Mostly it was flirtatious comments, things that made her stomach flip with jitters while she covered it with a roll of her eyes or a soft slap on the back of his head. The playful smack was her favourite punishment for his smart comments because he always, always, threw a fit about the state of his curls.
But on occasion, it was more than his arrogance.
It was the gentle way he would grab her by the waist, lifting her easily over some fallen obstacle that was in their way. “There we go, darling,” softly murmured, almost unconsciously. Not letting go until he was sure her feet were on steady ground. Gods above knew the ground was never steady underneath her when he did that.
‘Stupid.’ She would think to herself. ‘Don’t be so stupid.’
Ever since that time she had accidentally smacked the back of her head on a ledge when she came out of hiding, he couldn’t help but put his hand out to protect her skull. Never touching, no, but hovering there protectively. She’d only caught him doing it once and the rest of the party hadn’t noticed it at all - except Shadowheart, he thought. He’d once seen a glimmer of amusement in her eye and snatched his hand away like it had burned.
‘It’s nothing,’ He had mused to himself. ‘She’s more useful to me without a concussion, that’s all.’ Astarion felt absolutely no desire to try and work through why he had to even justify it to himself.
There was a night where the party had indulged in some wine, a rare treat they saved for when the group needed a morale boost. They’d had a successful day at an orc encampment and were eager to have a private celebration instead of the usual crawling into bed half broken and bruised.
The tiefling had made better friends with her bottle than some of the others and Astarion watched her with amusement from his spot around the fire. He was sat cross legged, leaning back on his hands as he watched her skirt flare as she twirled sillily around the group.
There was something almost endearing about the way her fangs peaked out when she would smile - or how she grabbed the sides of her skirt to add flourish to her dance while the others clapped along in amusement.
It was less amusing when she clumsily crashed to the floor between him and Wyll. With a frown on her face, she crawled over towards Astarion before climbing half on his lap with her torso and burying herself in the fabric of his trousers.
“M’dizzy,” She mumbled, wrapping her arms around his knees. The elf only hesitated a moment before resting a hand on the small of her back and turning back to Wyll to continue their conversation.
He couldn’t see the soft smile she gave, but he was pretty sure he could feel it.
It was barely a few weeks later when she’d been sitting up to keep watch over the others while they slept. Astarion had been restless the entire night.
Of course, he didn’t ever really sleep per se, but sometimes his meditation would pull him far enough down that it almost felt like it. Unfortunately with that level of sinking depth, his mind would wander into unfamiliar territory. Dreaming, but not quite. At the edge of the group, closest to the coals of the nights fire, the tieflings mind and clever fingers were caught in the task of doing some repairs on the groups’ items. That was the only explanation she had to the fact that she had felt his pull..
Not his pull, really, but the tadpoles.
There were no defined pictures, no flashes of imagery - just feelings and vague blobs of colour.
Like a murky black cloud swirling beneath water, a gentle tug of terror . Burnt auburn leaking into the ink. She thought it was anger as she crawled over to his bedroll to check on him.
Astarion was laid out of his stomach, his fingers grasping his pillow as his breath occasionally hitched in an uneven pattern. A deep frown was etched into his face as he occasionally bared his fangs. The tiefling kneeled uneasily beside him, not sure if she should wake him. Just as she was reaching out to gently shake his shoulder, his eyes bolted open. The elf scrambled away from her as his back hit a boulder near the guttered embers of their nighttime fire.
It was only there for a second but she saw it.
Shame. Not anger, but shame.
Before she could ask if he was alright, Astarion was on his feet and stalking away from the camp, brushing the dirt from his undershirt as he went.
When he returned with the sunrise climbing over the hill, she simply passed him the armour pieces she had been repairing the night before as she passed his tent. If the tiefling had turned around for just a second , she would have caught the way his heart jumped into his eyes and the way he swallowed nervously before closing his eyes and gently shaking his head.
When he opened them again, his face was back to his usual mask of unamused indifference.
~
It was evening and the moon shined bright enough to outline the camp and the area surrounding it.
The tiefling made herself a comfy spot on top of a fallen log that was just out of earshot of the camp, but still close enough that she could see the flickers of the bonfire between the trees. If she strained her ears, she could just about hear Wyll and Gale arguing over how to prepare the parties’ nighttime meal. Close enough for safety, far enough for privacy.
She was working on a new piece of clothing, a simple thing patched together out of scraps they’d found along their way either from traders or long forgotten in somebody's abandoned wardrobe. It was easy, mind numbing work that she enjoyed doing in their off time. Her own source of meditation.
It was probably because she was so absorbed in her work that she hadn’t heard him sneak up. Or maybe it was because he could move through the shadows no louder than a whisper and twice as hard to see as one.
The coolness of his skin was the first thing she noticed as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders to take the fabric from her hands. As she turned, she hadn’t expected him to be so close to her but she let out a small noise of surprise when her eyes met his.
“Keeping busy, dear?” His tone was entirely too casual when she thought about the fact that he was close enough for her to feel his words.
“Yes,” The tiefling breathed as a blush crawled up her cheeks. He chuckled and stood before coming around the log to come sit beside her. The garment she had been working on sat in his lap, but she didn’t make a move to take it from him. Sometimes he would take things from her hands for the entire purpose of making her chase him, but this didn’t feel like that. This felt like he was just coming to spend time with her. A rarity.
She turned so she was sat cross legged on the log, facing the elf. Very hesitantly she reached out to grab her work from his lap and he couldn’t help the flicker of a sarcastic smile on his face. She was so precious sometimes.
Astarion really wasn’t intending to be a bastard when he copied the way she sat so he could face her. The rush of blood that had run to her cheeks was still there, hells, it was climbing over her ears until the tips of those were tinged pink as well. So precious indeed.
He couldn’t really say he wasn’t being a bastard when he grabbed the side of her thighs and yanked her forward so that she was practically in his lap. The tiefling still had her legs crossed, but now his were resting on each side of the trunk of the fallen tree they were sitting on. The very moment his strong hands had gripped her, she had slammed her eyes shut and determinedly pointed her chin downwards in an act of defiant shyness.
So naturally, she didn’t see him reaching out to gently touch the side of her face with graceful fingers.
“Look at me, darling,” He said softly, running his thumb over her bottom lip. If she squeezed her eyes any further closed, she’d be left with permanent scowl lines. “Open your eyes.”
“No.”
He let out a laugh, softer than she thought it was going to be. There’s a touch of warmth to it she wasn’t expecting. “No?”
“No.” She’s so stubborn sometimes.
But Astarion can work with stubbornness, he knows how to work around it. So the elf leans forward and plants a barely there kiss on her cheek and she can’t help but sigh softly. He trails more of these feather touch kisses along her jaw, down her neck and back up the other side of her face, gently tucking a strand of hair that had fallen forward behind her ear. Then there’s nothing - no more kisses or touches.
The tiefling could feel her heart just about beating out of her chest when she opened her eyes.
He is right there in front of her, a self confident smirk playing at the edge of his lips. Those ruby eyes are staring at her slightly parted lips and once again, he lifts his hand to rub his thumb against her lips to explore how they feel. The only difference is this time she leans into the surprising smoothness of his hand.
This time, when the beautiful elf leans in, the tiefling moves to meet him halfway there.
Just as she feels his lips on hers - he’s gone. Standing beside the log that had been their shared loveseat not even moments ago. Astarion rests his hands on the top of her head, right between her horns, and gives a smile that only barely covers his pain.
“Goodnight, darling.” He says quietly as he removes his hand. “Sleep well,” And with that, he stalks off away from camp and into the forest.
The tiefling shakes her head and picks up her sewing from her lap, quietly going back to her work.
Stupid. Don’t be so stupid.
With a sigh, she puts him from her mind.