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Feeling a warm body next to his own made Astarion just more aware of how cold he was in undeath. His body was not quite as cold as that of a dead man, but nothing compared to the warmth of the bard. Maybe one more reason to just keep on lying next to him, soaking in that warmth. It reminded him of the sun. Oh, how much he missed going out into the sun. But at least he had this. At least he was no longer alone. No matter how hard it was still to believe. He was not alone.
By now Astarion knew quite well what the bard’s scent reminded him off: Rock in the summer, when it dried in the sun after a rainstorm. Quite specific, but it was what it reminded him off. A warm smell. A comforting smell. And more than that another thing that reminded him of the sun. Tav had promised he would find a way to cure him – though Astarion wasn’t sure whether it was even possible. Could vampirism be healed? Yet, not too long ago they had fought against gods, literal gods. So maybe other things were not as impossible as thought.
Elves didn’t really sleep. At least they didn’t need to. But that meditative state to remember… It was even more evasive than actual sleep. The memories he was still holding… He didn’t actually want to remember them. And that life he had once had before Cazador had found him bleeding out on the street had long left his mind. He didn’t remember his reflection, his family, anything. But at least this was nice. Lying next to Tav, as the man was already snoring happily. Listening to that snore and to the heartbeat. And feeling that warmth. That incredible, wonderful warmth.
“It’s alright,” Tav said once more, gently caressing Astarion’s face. “You do not have to push yourself.”
Like so many times before, Astarion just could not help it. To be a bit defiant. More to his own mind than the words of the bard. “I want this, though. I…” He took the man’s hand, just feeling it. “I want this.” He wanted to be touched. He wanted to be touched in so many ways. And yet his mind would not let him. His mind would just remind him of the many unwelcome touches in the past.
“It’s alright.” Tav smiled.
There were times when Tav was treating Astarion like a ceramic doll that would so easily be broken. The worst part of it was, that he might not be wrong. Because on some days Astarion felt as if he would break if there was just the slightest bit of strain put onto him. Like glass cooled down too quickly. He still hated it, though. The fact that someone needed to be so careful with him. The fact that he needed to be touched so carefully. Yet, he was also just a bit thankful for it. For the care, the softness.
Astarion smiled, because the gesture was so unbelievably sweet. At times, when they were in bed, Tav would take his hands and kiss each of the fingers, then the knuckles, then the palms. There was still so many kinds of touch Astarion could not tolerate, but this was sweet. Nobody had touched him like this before.
He ran his own fingers through the bard’s hair, before pulling him down to kiss the man’s lips. Because even those lips were strangely warm, strangely perfect. He wasn’t sure whether this was, what love felt like. But if it was, he liked it.
“It’s okay,” Tav whispered, running his fingers through Astarion’s hair. “It’s okay. You are safe. Nobody is going to harm you. Cazador is dead.” Once more the voices in the shadows had become too loud to be ignored. Once more it had made Astarion tremble and break down. Yet, once again Tav was there with him, holding him.
Astarion hated that he was crying. He hated that his mind would betray him time and time again. But at least when Tav was here, it was bearable. Not good, but bearable. Then the voices would become quieter, though they never ceased.
Astarion had never thought he would ever appreciate so simple little things. Like this. Sitting in front of the fireplace and leaning onto someone else. To have someone’s arm put around him, as some stew was warming up in the pot over the flames.
Well, maybe “never” was wrong. Maybe he had once appreciated those things. Maybe he had in that nebulous time before Cazador. But whoever that Astarion Ancunin had been, the Astarion who was here now, together with Tav… He didn’t remember him. He was a different person. Better? Worse? He didn’t know. Maybe he would never know.
Sweet and tangy. A bit like fruit juice. What a strange comparison, yet it always came into his mind when he was drinking from Tav. He could feel the man’s heartbeat, could feel his every breath, could feel his tenderness too. Drinking from him made Astarion so aware how mortal Tav was. Really, it should be him protecting the man, given that close to nothing could kill him. Yet, it was always the other way around. No matter how mortal the man was, he would protect everyone.
“What is it?” he asked now.
Astarion just kissed his neck. “Nothing, love.”
“You are so warm,” Astarion whispered as he once again cuddled up to the man.
“What?”
“You are so warm,” he repeated. “It feels almost magical.”
Tav chuckled at this. “I bet you that Karlach would have been warmer, though.”
“No, my sweet. Karlach was hot – in the literal sense of the word. You could burn your fingers by touching her. You are warm.” He sighed, then leaned over to kiss Tav. “You kinda remind me of the sun.”
“In a good way?”
Astarion smiled. Something that came easier to him these days. “Of course, my sweet. The best way.”