Work Text:
He watched them as they made their way around the camp, watched as their pleasing smile erupted every time they approached a member of their little misfit group. He couldn’t help the way his red eyes drank in their figure, the roundness of their hips, the silent steps as they stalked further away, the crinkle of their eyes as they smiled, the glimmer. Despite it all, despite everything, Tav continued to smile. They continued to light up the camp even when cursed out, even when they were beyond exhausted, when their emotions and heart broke into pieces at the decisions made on all of their behalfs, they kept being positive. They kept checking in on everyone, healing their wounds, listening intently to whatever drabble fell from their mouths.
Astarion knew, deep down, that soon Tav would be used all up. That everyone took their kindness for granted, that everyone relied on them much too heavily. That it was draining their spirit. As much as it disgusted him to watch Tav kill themselves for the sake of others they barely knew, he was also enamored with it. He knew they had been ripped away from their life, kidnapped the same as him and the rest of them, experimented on by the mindflayers. He knew the anxiety that pounded inside Tav’s chest, the fears behind their eyes, and the hopelessness behind their warm smile. He knew, because he could hear the steady beating of their heart even from across camp.
Even now, as they listened intently on what Shadowheart was explaining, some dark memory she could barely grasp to explain. Tav was there, reassuring as always, curious and nosy as ever. They were there, putting a hand on Shadowheart’s knee as the cleric seemed distraught, eyebrows furrowed with a rather intense glare.
After that night, after Tav had allowed him to feast upon their blood, he couldn’t help the protectiveness inside him. True, he didn’t trust them yet, not completely. But he had meant what he said, he had meant it when he told them that their kindness was a gift he wouldn’t dismiss. The first true act of kindness he had received in over two-hundred years. He intended to repay it in full, whether that was by gracing them with his presence and commentary, or by looking out for them in battle, he was adamant about repaying his debt. And while Tav insisted he owed them nothing, he just couldn’t stand to be in someone’s debt, to owe someone something. He knows it’s the terror instilled in him from Cazador. But he cannot part with it, it seemed a part of himself now. And he was forced to get used to it, or else perish alongside it as it slowly engulfed him entirely.
That night, when they caught him red handed about to feast upon their delectably exposed neck, they hadn’t attacked him. Tav hadn’t even shouted. Instead, they listened to his panicked explanation, accepted his truth and his needs and offered a remedy to his problem. He had always hated their generosity, it seemed to have no bounds, taking on challenge after challenge while they had their own affairs to drown in. They never asked for compensation, happy to nearly kill themself free of charge, happy to jump in the way of a weapon and an innocent, happy to do whatever it took to make someone feel safe. Tav had laid themselves down, letting him crawl on top, cradle their head, and pierce their flesh with razor sharp fangs. They let him lap at their throat, feast on their blood until they nearly passed out, and sought him out the next day. Tav told him he could feed on them whenever he needed to, whenever he found himself starved and famished. After dining on putrid rats and scraps, Astarion had never tasted blood so delicious. He found himself fixated on the taste of them, focused in the middle of combat when they rushed into battle, listening intently to the strong beating of their heart. He was glad they always approached him whenever they made it to camp, happy because it made him seem less desperate for another bite. In so many ways, whenever he held himself back, they seemed to unlock the chains pinning him in place. Tav always welcomed him, making all his needs easily forgettable as they answered every one exactly as needed. They made him feel valued, not like a bother. They made him feel…..good.
And he hated it.
He hated his addiction towards them, hated that nobody else could hear the quickening heartbeat but him. Hated that he could make out their emotions by the sound of it alone. He grew frustrated whenever Gale demanded more from them, greedy for their magical items, pressuring them to take up more deals to acquire such treasures. He was upset with Lae’zel as she kept muttering threats despite how warm Tav had been, enraged when Shadowheart glared at them for digging deeper into the artifact that protected them all. How easily Karlach placed quest after quest on Tav’s shoulders, first the fake Tyrs, then the engine heart, and then Wyll. He absolutely felt homicidal when no one else caught that faraway look in their eyes as they ate together, when they seemed down, saddened, and no one asked if they were alright. No one asked them how they were fairing, what they needed, what their past was. Tav made every attempt to get to know everyone in their party in excruciating detail, and yet none of them seemed the least bit interested in their story.
Ever since they slept together, and Tav had even allowed him to drink his fill of them then, he felt obsessed. He craved much more than their blood, he craved the feeling of their warm flesh on his cold skin, the feeling of their weight against his, to feel the heartbeat he heard day and night beating against his chest. He needed it all, he needed them, everything. He couldn’t stand to watch Tav anymore, turning his gaze into his book. If anyone deserved to be selfish, it was Tav, so why wouldn’t they? He doubts anyone from their camp would be opposed, they’re all grateful to Tav’s leadership, indebted to them in their own ways.
He decides he cannot take it anymore as the sweet smell of iron wafts right under his nose, the familiar draw of Tav’s blood. Today had been a bad day, with everything under the sun going wrong, utterly, absurdly, wrong. And when Tav fell to their many enemies, he seemed to be the only one to stop and help them up. He was the only one screaming from across the field as they were downed, that they couldn’t give up, that they needed to hang on until someone made it over to heal them. Shadowheart was wiped out from her spells, having no more energy to cast any healing spell. And Tav insisted, like always, for the others to have the healing potions. They were barely hanging on, he could tell. The tiredness showing under their eyes, littered with bruises, and bleeding still. How dare Shadowheart sit there and mope, when Tav had acquiesced and endangered them all just to escape the destroyed Seluna’s temple. To make matters worse, Shadowheart refused to answer any of Tav’s questions. And as they sit there, bleeding, injured, Shadowheart denies them the one thing they ask for:
The truth.
Astarion can no longer sit idle, can no longer smell the tempting tang of their blood past his ire. His fury has reached its limit. The pale elf marches over, fists clenched, as Shadowheart’s furious eyes seem to lift as he draws near. The cleric seems upset, and he can hear her refusing to give up Shar’s secrets for the thousandth time. He recounts the ways Tav had defended Shadowheart and her faith, all the times she happily dropped a subject when Shadowheart expressed displeasure, and this was how they were repaid?
“Astarion.” The cleric’s voice is firm, obviously prickled at being bombarded with endless questions. “Can we help you?”
“Why, yes, you absolutely can.” His voice drips in sarcasm, the pretense of a thin, waning smile and furious crimson eyes all she gets in return. “By solving your own problems and getting lost. Be a doll and earn your keep somehow.”
Shadowheart made a noise at his retort, jaw dropping with a reply flying to her lips. Before she could, there Tav went, standing up fast and putting themselves between the two of them. As if their body can shield the two of them from the other’s ire, to protect the both of them from discourse. It might’ve been a sweet notion, if it didn’t just piss Astarion off that much more.
“Astarion.” Came their firm voice, gaze hardened with bits of shock peppered in as their leader gave him a scolding with only their eyes. ’Finally,’ he thought, it was about time they stop ignoring him.
“Yes, darling?” He feigned innocence, turning to look down at them with his normal smirk. From his close proximity, the stench of iron found itself rooted into his system. He could feel his teeth ache, as if suddenly sensitive, and his mouth watering. It was the smell of Tav’s blood that drove him mad, turned him famished in a minute upon the mere thought of it. But, as delicious as it was to taste them, he knew he couldn’t do the sort tonight. Not until they became healed, which meant a long rest. He fed off Tav last night anyhow, they needed the night off from quenching his bloodlust. They needed a night being the one refreshed.
“What was that about?” Tav rattled on, holding up their hand the more Shadowheart tried to get a word in. Astarion ignored the rueful look in the cleric’s eyes, much too focused on the heaviness in Tav’s gaze. The way their blood pumps faster, the way their shoulders touch their ears in stress and tension. You’re overwhelmed, he can tell, you are drowning. Shackling more weight on their joints to help sink faster by tackling Shadowheart’s most recent problem.
“Urgent, I’m afraid.” He hisses, grabbing their armor around their wrist before pulling them elsewhere. Tav yelled, awkwardly trying to stab their heels into the ground to disobey him. The efforts were in vain, however, as all they managed to do was leave trenches in the dirt all the way to his tent. He used his strength to topple them over, effectively sending them flying onto the laid out bedroll in the center of his rogue sanctuary.
”Astarion!” Tav squawked, quickly sitting themselves up and onto their feet. The leader glared, breaths coming in light and shallow gasps. Their fingertips quiver, balled into tight fists at their sides to disguise the truth. Tav was irritable, because they were triggered. “What is the meaning of this!?”
The vampire remained silent, stepping forward. Tav stepped back, the small tent already at their back. Astarion’s brows seemed to shift, a look of worry at the increased rhythm of their heart. His eyes then melted back into malice, the center of his red eyes dancing with flames. He has an air of seriousness he doesn’t gift often, that he only gifts them.
As the pale elf towers over Tav, his free hand coming to just barely caress their cheek, he appears sad. His voice, a small whisper, hits their face. The smell of them; of stress, of blood, of exhaustion and sweat, of despair, wash over him. He can no longer smell the scent of their hair, nor the natural fragrance of their body. All that was before him was someone pushed beyond their limit, scared, frazzled, yet masking. It reminded him of himself, of the years he spent pretending to be happy beside Cazador. The years he mewled ‘thank you’s at abuse, ‘please’s at torment, and satisfaction at starvation. Staring down at them, as they’ve given everything up, laid everything bare, held everyone together, his heart stirs. For the first time in hundreds of years, his heart clenched behind his ribs, crying out in the same manner it had when he was still alive.
“Drink,” He says. Taking his hand out from his pocket, he uncapped a red vial. A healing potion, the last of the ones rationed. It was meant for himself, for when he needed it. As much as he knew Tav wanted to refuse, he didn’t give them the opportunity. He began pouring the liquid, leaving them no choice but to drink or waste what little resources they had. He emptied its entire contents onto those plump, tasty lips. Watching as they gulped it down, as if they’ve never tasted something so refreshing before. “Good, darling.” He purrs, giving them a small smile once the vial turns clear.
“You made a scene to force feed me?” Tav asked incredulously, never before seeing this sort of behavior from the man before. It was rather out of character of him to tend to someone else, someone other than himself for a change.
“Sooner, rather than later, you’ll get yourself killed.” He said somberly, his hand now latching onto Tav’s chin. He tilts his head forward, just as he pulls Tav’s face up, and they become ensnared as his prey once more. However, despite his aggressive tactics, they didn’t feel threatened at all. “And I would miss the easy buffet, as well as that pretty neck of yours.”
Tav pushes him away lightly, hands soft once they’re placed against his chest. They were nervous touching him, nervous to upset him, putting himself over them yet again—
“Stop.” He suddenly growls, grabbing them by the shoulders tightly to keep Tav from sacrificing any more of themself. “You cannot neglect yourself—I will stand for it no longer!”
“Are you…worried about me?” Tav suddenly whispers, eyes shining as they stare up at him. Suddenly the pinnacles of hope were shimmering right before him, forcing his still heart to leap right out of his chest. He reasons with himself that it was merely anxiety over losing his safeguard. Yes, that had to be it. He was just nervous to lose his biggest defense against Cazador. That was all.
He should lean into this, it would make for an excellent advancement in their relationship. It would work wonders for bonding Tav closer to himself, making them more obligated to protect him the more they feel for him. It was genius. And yet…
And yet, he found himself being genuine as he utters the words, “Yes, dear. I am.”
As much as he wants to berate himself, he can’t. Not when their breathing stutters, not when their heart starts to race for an entirely different reason than the nerves and adrenaline. Tav stands before him, flustered with their mouth agape, willing words to grace their lips and save their composure but falling flat. He should feel triumphant, superior to catch their fearless leader dumbfounded. To be able to steal their reasoning and logistics from them with four easy words. Instead of goading and mirthful smirks, he finds himself enamored with them. He finds his gaze watching the red seep into their complexion, fixated on the way they stare up at him mesmerized. He’s used to seeing this look when he’s on his back, using his body to seduce the finest of nobles back to Cazador’s palace. Except, usually there’s some darkness tainting the expression, some form of deceit and greed inside the eyes gobbling up his body. But with Tav? Sweet, sweet Tav…
He finds only awe. He finds something more than lust and envy, something more innocent than desire or tyranny. He finds something soft, something warm, gentle and pure. A far cry than the melancholy of his siblings’ gaze, different than the wanton malice of Cazador, entirely foreign. Tav looks at him as something more than a vampire spawn, more than a slave, more than the crass and out of reach magistrate, more than his mask. Tav gazed upon him in wonder and astonishment. Tav looked upon him in worship, as if he were a God himself roaming the Earth, blessing all with his mere presence. They look upon him as if he was the miracle they’ve been praying for, hoping for, saving themselves for. And Astarion does not know what to do with such a gaze.
As much as he wants to reach out and claim it all for himself, he does not find himself worthy of a being so kind. Couldn’t Tav see what he was? Couldn’t they understand everything utterly wrong with him, with how he was? Or, did they see it all and not care anyway? Did they want him for his services, from the Tielfing party? Or, did they want a pawn, just as he did? He couldn’t be certain. He could never know.
But, he could give back. If only in the smallest amount.
“Close your mouth, darling. Or else, you risk giving me ideas.” He quips on instinct, something in his empty chest reigniting once more. He thought he had calmed himself from such childish behaviors, however he is proven wrong. Two centuries of nothing but agony, fear, shame, and rage made one forget positive emotions. Is he falling for this goody two shoes? Impossible. He is the seductress, there is no way he can be the loser of his own game. He laid this trap out, not Tav, so why was he the one in danger of falling? “I’ve stolen some soup before dearest Karlach could scarf it all down. You should eat before it grows cold.”
Just as he gestures over to a small stool acting as a side table, he is spared from those gorgeous eyes. Perhaps, spared is not the right word, as he finds himself missing their adoring gaze. This night was suppose to be about them, not him nor any of his desires or fixations. If he wanted to, he could twist this and say by aiding them he is helping himself. But, the deepest parts of his soul, pieces he forgot he even had, sprang forth to remind him of his thirst for care. Nobody had ever stuck their neck out for him, except for Tav. Accepting him for a spawn, pledging to rid him of Cazador, keeping him well fed and standing up for him at every turn. This was someone worth risking himself for, this was someone who deserved better than he could offer, but he would try. Try to return a fraction of the kindness they had so graciously bestowed upon him.
They decided not to argue with him, whether it was the sternness of his gaze, or the vulnerability shaking their confidence, they gave in. Grabbing the bowl of soup and softly blowing steam from the spoon once it was close enough to their lips, their gaze falls to the floor. Glued to the dirt on their own boots, Astarion doesn’t remember the delicacies of real food, can only remember the savory warmth of iron sliding down his throat or the pains of famine. He cannot, for the life of him, guess what other things Tav would have liked to have for dinner. There was fresh berries plucked from a bush thanks to Halsin, some wine from Gale he assured was still good, and sweet rolls from Lae’zel’s ever-so-observant eyes. He just brought them water, and suddenly feeling rather small himself, offered it lamely to the other.
“I admit darling, I acted a bit on impulse there.” He said softly, finding relief when Tav accepted the bottle. “I do not remember the pleasures of food, nor do I know your tastes, but if you’re starving ask. I don’t mind bullying Karlach from the stores should you crave anything.”
“Why are you doing all of this?” Tav’s quiet voice finally pierces the silence. They cannot look him in the eyes, but from how they tapped the bottle silently to dispel their anxious energy, he knew they were calming down. Their heart, while still beating strong and quick, was beginning to slow. “Why drag me here, you’ve already eaten, so why?”
“Must one have a reason?” Astarion shot back, feeling the familiar defensiveness spite his own temper. He knew he shouldn’t get snippy with them, but it was hard to break century old habits.
“You said you acted on impulse,” Tav pressed on. Determined to get to the bottom of whatever was powering Astarion’s motives. “What impulse would have you feed me soup and start an argument with Shadowheart? It makes as much sense as this tadpole in our heads.”
Astarion pursed his lips, feeling himself swell with lies. He could easily fool them, as he’s done all along, it would be child’s play. But, he found the idea souring his already spoiled mood. Somehow, telling Tav lies made him feel….guilty.
“You-” Astarion bites, sighing to dismiss all the unspoken fabrications that stayed ready on his tongue. “You haven’t been resting. I’ve seen you jumping around camp, the last to bed and the first to rise, tackling problem after problem. It’s quite stupid of you, you know-”
“-Astarion, I-”
He raised his hand to halt them, a glare with no true venom adding to his interjection. “ As I was saying, It is rather stupid when you ignore your own needs. I might be undead, love, but that makes me no fool.”
Upon their silence, he presses on.
“I know fatigue when I see it, and as….thankful as I am of your giving spirit, you’re scrapping at the bottom of the barrel, so to speak.” He concluded, gesturing towards them, he wasn’t one to ridicule someone on their appearance, but it was quite plain to see. The dark circles under their eyes, their little appetite, their lack of patience, their low weight. “You must take care of yourself darling.”
“I think that’s probably the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Tav said after some time, finally looking up at him with the softest, sweetest smile. He hates how his ears seem to perk upon witnessing such divine beauty, hates even more how he feels himself leaning closer to the other to better hear their faint voice. He didn’t need to, he had better hearing than most of their party, and yet he craved to be closer to them. “Thank you, Astarion.”
“Yes, well, consider it a debt repaid.” He easily dismissed their gratitude, holding the words inside his heart for centuries to come should they be blessed with survival after all of this.