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Astarion looks around the street. The town of Daggerfold, barely home to more than a thousand people, is dark and peaceful. Just a stopover for travelers, but once a part of a long-gone kingdom of the past.
He carefully navigates to a tavern where he stays with you. He was hesitant about renting a room first.
"They will notice I am a vampire, darling, and I am afraid. People in those cities tend to hate vampire lovers more than the Undead themselves."
But you looked at him with those puppy eyes (learned from a professional), and he agreed. Besides, not being constricted to the tent for the whole day feels nice.
Astarion can walk around the room and the tavern, read, and talk to the people if he wants (he usually doesn't) and you can sleep in a comfortable bed.
Besides, you both have had a bath for the first time in weeks today.
Astarion notices the signs of the pre-dawn on the east. The innate fear grasps his mind.
Run. Run. Run.
Hide. Or die. Elves call it mor. The ultimate death, without resurrection to come.
Astarion forces himself to calm down. It's still too early and the Inn is already visible in the distance. He doesn't even have to rush.
A hand grabs his wrist and he flinches, disturbed by the unwelcome touch.
The young man, probably a half-elf, tries to pull him closer, seductively licking his lips, a gesture too familiar for Astarion not to notice.
"Looking for company, handsome?" His words are sweet and full of lust. "I can offer you a time of pleasure."
Astarion wants to set himself free, just to go away. It's not supposed to be difficult. It's not like the young man's grip is tight. A simple "no" is enough, people in this profession don’t tend to insist.
The vampire knows it from personal experience.
"Your skin is so pale, almost like marble. And hands... so cold. Come on, I will warm you"
Astarion is paralyzed. As if he is ordered not to move. Like he often used to be.
When he was on the other side of this conversation. When he was the man who needed to get a client as soon as he could.
Seeing no resistance, the prostitute reaches out for his cheek.
His touch is acid-burning.
"GO AWAY!" Astarion yells, almost betraying his fangs. "Leave me alone!"
The man is taken aback and immediately pulls away. Astarion curses and mutters through his teeth all the slurs he remembers.
Every word he ever heard from passers-by.
Whore. Slut.
Filliken.
There is a disgusted and evil smile on the man's face. "You were like me, am I right? All of you… former colleagues, are like that."
Astarion steps back. A dark wave of terror drags him to the abyss. The sun is almost up.
He makes himself move towards the Inn.
"But you can't escape your past! You hear me? It will always be with you, no matter how hard you try to wash it all away!"
Astarion runs. The moment the first ray pierces the air, he is already in the safe shadow of a sleepy inn.
It's almost empty. Only a few drunkards sleep peacefully on the floor. Astarion goes upstairs, praying you aren't back yet.
Because he doesn't want to look at you right now.
His hands tremble and dark thoughts plague his mind like a swarm of flies.
The room is empty and your walking boots are missing. He sighs in relief.
That's the problem with you. You know when something is wrong. Even if you understand he doesn't want to discuss it, you still acknowledge it.
Besides, if you were in the room, you would hear the screams.
Astarion falls on the bed, not bothering to undress himself, and closes his eyes.
He needs to meditate. He needs to wander away. When he wakes up, it will be better.
But Astarion should know better; it never works like that.
Again and again, he sees the same things. Hands of strangers, touching him without his consent. His cheeks, his chest, his back. His private parts. Grabbing and groping him. Laughing and smiling. Future victims. Useful people he needed to extract information from. Others whom he just needs to please.
Sweat that feels like acid. Touches that hurt like red-hot tongs. Intimacy is worse than torture.
Astarion tries to force his mind to remember something else. You, he needs to remember you. Your touches, your voice, your blood. He attempts to visualize you but instead, it's a look-alike stranger, a fake voice with hurtful words.
He sits up, pressing his hands to the chest. His body feels rested but his mind is exhausted. Astarion hears voices from downstairs - busy afternoon in the tavern.
…You sleep beside him pressing your face into the pillow. Astarion notices that his boots are taken off and his body is covered with a blanket. It seems like when you came back, you put the shoes off him and tucked him in the blanket.
Astarion carefully gets out of bed. He still has a few hours before you wake up and he needs to occupy his mind with something.
It seems like the trance has made things worse.
Astarion, moron, you taint Tav. A voice within his undead heart whispers. Your past will never go away. Your skin is dirty. People will always know who you are. Tav pities you but even heroes are tired of being saviors.
This will never be over. Whatever he does. Wherever he goes, his past will follow him like the smell of death. He ruins you. He destroys you.
Astarion takes a book out of the bag and opens it randomly. A trembling hand tries to turn the page.
And tears it.
Fuck.
The books fall to the floor with a loud thump.
You move in your sleep but don't wake up. Astarion, cursing himself for being so clumsy, picks it up and immediately bumps his head on the wooden table.
Tainted. Tainted, the voices keep whispering, completely taking away all the control. His body doesn't belong to him. All the movements are off.
"Astarion, are you all right?" you mumble in the pillow.
"Yes... my... I am ... " The ability to talk properly leaves him as well.
He needs to go out. At least, he can sit in a tavern and look for potential contracts.
In a tavern similar to his hunting spots. And where yet another person might try to get him to bed.
He pulls out the door, but it is locked. He looks around and sees the key on the table. Tries to take it but it slips away through his fingers.
"Is anything wrong?" you yawn, sitting up. Your face is sleepy and the hair is messy.
"No... I am..."
You stand up and while still half-asleep pick up the key and open the door. Astarion stays at the threshold, fearing to fall down the stairs the moment he leaves the room.
"Astarion, the more I live with you, the more you resemble a cat to me! Do you want to stay inside or go out?"
"I ... "
His hands are still trembling. You look at them, noticing the tremor.
And close the door.
"I take my words back about you being a cat. You are more like a hobgoblin now."
"Careful, darling, I can get offended"
"So, you can speak now. What's wrong? You don’t look drunk to me, so?"
"Nothing important. Please, go to sleep."
"Did someone hurt you?"
"No, nothing"
"Liar."
Before he manages to object, you make him return to bed. As he sits down, you help him to undress. The light armor he forgot to put off, the shirt, and the trousers are carefully placed on the chair. He stays only in his underwear.
His hands are still shaking.
“I would gladly offer you my blood, but I am afraid you will pierce my carotid artery in your current state.”
Astarion nods. You lie on the bed and pull him to you. He places his head on your chest. You wrap your hands around him as if protecting him from the outside world and his own mind.
You are warm like sunlight.
You lie silently under the blanket in the dark room. You got the cheapest room in the Inn – the one without windows and the Innkeeper couldn’t understand why you two were so content about it.
“Can I touch your back?” you ask.
"What? Of course... Of course, you can. Why do you even ask?"
"Because I care about you", a gentle caress brushes over his scars. “Because I want you to feel safe.”
And he gives up. He tells you everything. About the man on the streets. The words and curses Astarion addressed mostly to himself.
"I feel tainted," he admits. “I feel that I ruined you. I can't undo my past. It follows me like a shadow. And I bring this shadow to our bed!
A soft kiss. Then, another. Fingers draw invisible pictures on his skin. Tears prickle his eyes.
Why is he so weak? Why is he so pathetic?
Noticing his tension, you tug him closer.
"I am sorry", he mutters. "I thought I had already recovered. That the things have already gotten better."
"They have. And you can't make progress without taking any steps back. It's a part of growth."
He chuckles but still feels miserable. He doesn't know what makes him feel worse. The thoughts in his head or the understanding that he has been lying to himself.
Astarion believed he was healed. It was a lie.
"You don't taint me, Astarion. You don't ruin me. I don't care how many people touched you. I care only about what you are and what you want to be."
He finally finds the strength to pull you closer to himself. "I want it to be over. I want to move forward. But I just can't. It seems like… he truly broke me. There is nothing to repair.”
“A broken man wouldn’t desire revenge the very moment he acquired freedom. Broken people beg to be returned to their masters. A broken man wouldn’t fight back. You aren’t broken and you are healing. And I love you. Never doubt it.”
You lie together in silence. Astarion notices his hands don’t tremble anymore and he relaxes a bit. He is safe.
But is he happy?
He concentrates on his feelings. He is in the dark room protected from the sun. On the soft and comfy bed. His hands are wrapped around you, the first and only person he cares about and loves. And who gives him everything he thought he wasn’t worthy of? A heavy thick blanket covers you both. The touches on his bare skin are so gentle he is about to cry. The soothing heartbeat sounds like a lullaby.
Yes, he is happy. Even if his mind tries to tell him otherwise.
When he finally notices your movements, indication that you are ready to wake up. He frees himself from your grip and presses his lips against yours. He kisses you softly, slowly, tasting you.
Thanking you.
“Feeling better?” you ask once your eyes open.
"Hello, darling", he smiles. “Yes, I am.”