Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was late, when Kelyn finally arrived back on his doorstep. Most anyone else would have put it off for one more day, to avoid traveling at night...but, well, the dark held no dangers for a drow, and besides that, he was eager to get home. The timing was, if anything, serendipitous.

After all, Yurissa was likely asleep by now (though he’d be very surprised if Astarion had been enforcing any sort of regular sleep schedule, so perhaps not) and Astarion likely was not. He wasn’t truly nocturnal, but he did trance through part of the day now.

And, gods, Kelyn had missed him.

It was the first time they’d been apart in...well, since they’d met, basically. Even after the nether brain’s defeat, Astarion had been eager to accompany Kelyn wherever he went...and for a time, he had. They’d spent some time traveling, and eventually returned back to Baldur’s Gate to find a home there, in one of the restored sections of the city. It had largely just been a place to return to, for a while, rather than a place to stay.

But Kelyn couldn’t help but feel some guilt at that. After all, didn’t Astarion deserve some down time, now that there wasn’t a world-ending crisis or a parasite in his brain threatening to turn him into a monster whenever it felt perky? Didn’t Yurissa, after going through the gauntlet of losing him, finding him, nearly losing him again, and nearly dying herself in the span of a few tendays? They both deserved a break, and a chance to just be.

So the next time he’d set out had been alone, with Astarion remaining home to do nothing more strenuous than keep Yurissa alive. Kelyn was sure it had been extremely taxing on him.

It hadn’t been a long trip, but he’d realized almost immediately how much he missed them both, and how eager he was to get back.

It was quiet when he stepped inside, and dark, which came as no surprise given the hour. Ears pricking, he listened for a moment, but if anyone was awake, no sound betrayed them: Yurissa must be asleep, then. The girl was hardly subtle, and if she’d known he was home, she would have already been rushing to greet him.

Astarion was quieter by habit, and he likely was awake...somewhere. Their bedroom, maybe. Kelyn left his things by the door to sort out later and started up the stairs, half-expecting to be greeted by the elf before he even made it to the top; surely, as quiet as it was, Astarion had heard the door.

What he didn’t expect was the cold press of a blade to his throat and a pale arm snaking around his middle to pull him back against a solid, lithe body, or the voice in his ear:

“For a drow, you certainly stand out in the dark, my dear.”

Kelyn’s breath caught at first, on instinct, and then he let it out in a sigh, the corner of his mouth quirking as he tilted his head, ears twitching.

“Well. Hardly the warm welcome I was hoping for.”

“Oh? Is it not to your liking?” Astarion sounded like he was smiling as he shifted the blade, scraping it against Kelyn’s jaw. The drow couldn’t help but shiver, a sharp thrill racing through him. “If someone wanted a warmer welcome, perhaps he shouldn’t have come slinking in so late.”

“Slinking?” Kelyn snorted. “Into my own home, no less? You wound me, love.”

Astarion answered with a quiet noise in his throat, like the rumble of a growl. It made Kelyn’s breath catch and his heart pound, as Astarion’s lips brushed up the length of his ear in a little caress that sent a distracting, electric shiver down his spine.

“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice low and soft and full of promise.

He moved the blade from Kelyn’s throat and he took it as implicit permission to turn. He barely got a look at Astarion before the elf moved, kissing him firmly.

Kelyn huffed out a short noise of surprise through his nose, his breath shaking once Astarion pulled back, catching his lower lip between his teeth as he did. The look he leveled on Kelyn almost rendered him breathless: it was heavy-lidded but sharp, focused. Predatory. Kelyn felt, for a moment, rather like a hapless fawn who had just stumbled stupidly into a wolf’s den.

“Wasn’t,” he managed, his voice a little thick and breathless, “expecting that either.” He swallowed, and Astarion’s ears twitched. He paused to put his blade away, then pulled Kelyn to him, pushing his hips forward with one hand and pulling his head to the side with the other so he could nuzzle into his neck.

“You walked right into the home of a hungry vampire in the dead of night,” Astarion murmured into his exposed throat, “and didn’t expect to be pounced on?” He scraped his teeth across Kelyn’s skin and the drow’s breath caught, his pulse racing; he couldn’t help how he arched into the elf’s mouth, but Astarion didn’t bite. Instead, he snorted. “Darling, how did you ever manage to survive so long?”

“For one,” Kelyn mumbled shakily, “said vampire shouldn’t be hungry.” He’d made sure of that, and checked repeatedly that they’d had enough of his blood stored up; Astarion had, in fact, scolded him for fussing so much about it, and pointed out he was entirely capable of taking care of himself.

The vampire in question growled, tracing his tongue up the length of Kelyn’s throat. He closed his teeth around his earlobe in a sharp nip, then hissed: “It’s not the same.”

He kissed Kelyn again before he could answer, pushing him back. Kelyn’s back hit the wall and he choked out a little grunt, before Astarion’s hands went to his hips to pull him close, his thigh pressing firmly between his legs. Kelyn couldn’t help the way he moaned into the kiss, or the way his hips rocked forward in response, neither of which was helped by Astarion’s thigh shifting to press up against him.

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” Astarion whispered in a rush against Kelyn’s lips. He caught Kelyn’s lower lip between his teeth, worrying it between his fangs, enough to hurt and make the drow gasp but not enough to break skin. “I don’t know whether I’d rather take my time with you or just have you right here.”

Kelyn almost whimpered at that suggestion; or maybe he did. He wasn’t sure, as fuzzy as his thoughts had gone. He swallowed, brushing Astarion’s hair back with shaking hands. “And risk waking Yurissa?”

Astarion huffed at that, tilting his head into Kelyn’s touch and closing his eyes for a moment. He exhaled slowly. “True.” He turned his head to brush his lips across Kelyn’s palm, then stepped away from him abruptly, turning the drow around and swatting his backside. “Bed. Now.”

Kelyn was halfway there before he even realized he’d already obeyed. Once he did, though, he turned, smiling as he backed up the last few steps, until the edge of their bed hit the back of his legs.

“You could have at least let me clean up first,” he remarked; he was certain he must smell like sweat and travel. Astarion quirked an eyebrow, shutting the bedroom door behind him. He didn’t answer immediately, instead stalking across the room to Kelyn until he was almost pressed against him, then tilting the drow’s chin upwards. His irises glinted blood-red in the low light.

“Why bother?” His voice was soft, his gaze unblinking. Then he smiled, a flash of fangs in his grin. “You’re just going to get filthy again anyway.”

The elf pushed Kelyn back onto the bed with a sudden, forceful shove, and followed him down, tangling his fingers into the drow’s hair so he could pull him into a firm, hungry kiss. He was already hard, grinding the firm length of his erection against Kelyn’s.

Kelyn choked out a moan, arching up into him, and oh. The noise Astarion made in response, he was sure, entirely unlike anything an elf should make. It was low and sharp and hungry, and made some giddy gut-instinct clamor for attention deep in his brain: the same sort of alarm that warned you away from angering bears.

Danger, Kelyn thought, and dragged Astarion closer.

The elf rewarded him with a sharp, painful, toothy nip, adjusting his weight onto one arm so he could shove the other hand between Kelyn’s thighs to cup around him. Kelyn arched his hips up into his touch, and Astarion muffled his gaspy cry with a firm kiss, pressing his palm into him for a moment before his fingers flitted upwards to undo his pants.

He didn’t continue from there, though, instead pushing back with a short hiss of breath. And before Kelyn could process that much, Astarion stepped back, caught hold of his waist, and turned him over, pressing him chest-first into the bed.

Oh, Kelyn had a second to think, dazed, as Astarion dragged his nails down the sides of his hips, pulling his clothing along with them to the top of his thighs. That works too.

Astarion made a low, appreciative noise in his throat, a little like a moan and a little like a growl. “Gods,” he breathed, his hands brushing across Kelyn’s newly-bared skin, “look at you.” He dug his nails in suddenly, raking them across Kelyn’s skin so that he gasped and arched upwards into the touch.

“So pretty,” Astarion murmured, before moving to press a kiss to the back of his head; the motion made him grind his still-clothed erection into Kelyn, and the drow hissed between his teeth, pressing back against him.

“Astarion,” he whispered, and the elf laughed softly into his hair.

Astarion moved away, for a moment, and there was a shuffle of movement before he returned: Kelyn looked back just in time to see him unstopper a bottle and spread some of its contents across his fingers. The sight alone made his breath shake, his heart pounding giddily with anticipation.

His immediate instinct was to raise his hips, spread his thighs as best he could in his current state of partial dress, just do something to make his eagerness obvious. But that was all a little bit difficult, because Astarion had moved so Kelyn’s legs were trapped between his own, which left him with precious little ability to actually move.

Kelyn could manage to arch his hips back into the first slick brush of Astarion’s fingers, though, ignoring how his spine protested the strain. He needed it, ached for it, more than anything: the burning, almost-too-much stretch of Astarion filling him, obliterating everything else from his mind.

He only realized the low, needy whine he heard was his own voice a second later.

Astarion chuckled, rubbing his fingers against him. “So eager, darling. Just how badly did you miss me?”

Kelyn snorted, but his voice shook when he answered. “You pounced on me the second I got home.”

Astarion laughed, bracing himself to lean over him and murmur into his ear, his voice low and soft: “Can you blame me, when something so delectable walks right into my arms?” He caught the edge of his ear between his teeth in a sharp nibble, moaning low in his throat as he pressed two fingers into Kelyn; the drow made a punched-out little gasp of a sound, arching his head back and lifting his hips to take him deeper.

Astarion may have been teasing at first, but he wasn’t now: he swept his tongue up the length of Kelyn’s ear, caught the tip between his teeth, brushed just his lips and breath against the back, all the while thrusting his fingers into him until he got just the right angle, and—

Oh. Oh.

Astarion huffed out a short, breathy laugh against the side of Kelyn’s head in response to the way he jerked and clenched around his fingers or the needy moan that Kelyn couldn’t help. He pressed a kiss there, brushing his free hand up to cup Kelyn’s throat and murmuring: “That’s it. It’s been so long since I’ve heard your pretty voice. Sing for me, my sweet.”

Kelyn was all too happy to do just that for him: to moan and whimper and gasp in response to Astarion’s touch, to squirm and pant and whine. He would have begged, and he very nearly did when the elf slid his fingers back out of him, leaving him feeling bereft and unfulfilled.

But Astarion’s hand slipped away from his throat, and he was clever and quick with his fingers: Kelyn barely managed to get out a shaking “please” before he felt Astarion’s hands back on his hips and the slick head of his cock pressing against him, and then the elf’s grip tightened and he yanked Kelyn back, almost sheathing himself fully in him with a single thrust.

The drow managed a sharp yip of surprise, then a helpless, shaking moan. Once, Astarion might have been overly-careful with him, wary of giving Kelyn any reason to regret choosing him.

Now, he knew better: he knew Kelyn most often liked it rough, just this side of painful, and that he wanted to be used. So that was exactly what he gave him.

Kelyn was deliciously helpless, panting and whining and almost sobbing with pleasure as Astarion pinned him to their bed and fucked him. Finally, just as he was beginning to forget his own name, he managed to get the breath to actually speak.

“Don’t stop,” Kelyn gasped, barely aware he was even speaking, “don’t stop, please—”

It was exactly what he shouldn’t have said, because Astarion did just that, his hands going to Kelyn’s hips to hold him still. Kelyn whined, shrill and protesting, trying to move on his own, but Astarion’s weight and grip on him kept him in one place; the elf snorted, rubbing his thumb soothingly across Kelyn’s skin and giving a teasing little roll of his hips that wasn’t nearly enough.

“I love you like this.” He was speaking, his voice low and throaty and almost giddy; Kelyn struggled to focus, to keep track of what he was saying, despite the aching frustration demanding his attention. “All desperate and needy.” Astarion punctuated it with a sharp buck of his hips that made Kelyn jerk under him and choke out a truly undignified noise. “Someday I’m going to take you in front of a mirror, so you can see how pretty you are when I fuck you.”

Kelyn struggled to keep up, not at all helped by how Astarion rolled his hips slow and deep, rubbing right against where he needed it most but not enough. He panted, trying to focus.

“Doesn’t,” he started, and for a moment was immensely annoyed by his own need to breathe, compared to Astarion. “D-doesn’t seem much fun for me.”

Astarion hummed at that, squeezing his hip before shifting to lean over him. Kelyn choked out a moan at the shift in angle, the way the elf ground his hips into him.

“Doesn’t it?” Astarion’s voice was low, dark, almost dangerous, purred against his ear. “You don’t want to see how you look stretched open on my cock, how pretty you are when you come for me?”

Kelyn swallowed, hard, his face hot at the suggestion. He took a breath, squirming to try and raise his hips, despite his lack of leverage and Astarion’s weight bearing down on him.

“Not much fun if I can’t see you,” he answered, his voice thick.

Astarion laughed at that, delighted, then nuzzled along the length of Kelyn’s ear, deliberately exhaling against the sensitive skin.

“I would distract you too much, darling. Besides, I doubt the mirror could handle it.”

He nipped sharply at the tip of Kelyn’s ear, then pushed himself back, snapping his hips into the drow’s and digging his nails into his skin as he yanked Kelyn’s hips up for a better angle.

Or, as it turned out, so he could get a hand under him; the drow choked out a shrill, broken sob of relief when Astarion’s hand closed around his cock, thrusting forward into his touch and gasping out: “Gods, yes, please—”

It barely took anything: he was so wound up that within one or two strokes he was coming, choking out Astarion’s name in a broken wail and arching back against him. He was distantly aware of snapping his heels upwards until they slammed into Astarion; the elf grunted at the impact, falling forward and catching himself against Kelyn’s back, but the entire motion just drove his cock deeper and Kelyn nearly sobbed at it.

He was barely able to focus through the sparking relief of his own orgasm, but some part of him recognized Astarion must have been close: he knew him, knew the quiet focus and sharp, shallow snap of his hips that meant he was close, he must be close, and Kelyn wanted it so badly—

Astarion hissed, sudden and sharp, his nails biting through Kelyn’s clothing when his hand suddenly snapped shut against his back and his hips slammed into him. A second later, he made a noise so low that Kelyn almost thought it was wordless, until he recognized the growled “fuck”, raw and hoarse in his throat. Astarion didn’t need to breathe, but he still panted as he rolled his hips, grinding into Kelyn as he rode out his own orgasm with a short, whimpery sound.

The drow let his eyes flutter closed, breathing shakily as Astarion relaxed, sinking onto him and absently mouthing at the side of his neck. He wanted to bite down, that much was clear from how he kept pressing his teeth into Kelyn, scraping against his skin, almost digging the points of his fangs in—

But he didn’t.

He didn’t, and after a few moments, Kelyn realized why with a sudden, giggly rush.

He always waited for Kelyn’s permission: for him to ask for it, or to tell him he could. And he hadn’t done that, yet. Even now—when he could have, should have assumed, when he’d been deprived of the privilege for so long—he waited.

Kelyn must have actually giggled at the realization, because Astarion snorted against him. And then he pushed himself back, one hand braced between Kelyn’s shoulders, the other brushing down his side.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing about.” He gave a short little roll of his hips, then shifted his weight to slide out of him; Kelyn hissed softly, then bit back a whimper, his head going all fuzzy-soft again at the feeling of Astarion’s cum spilling out of him. Gods, he felt so exposed, suddenly. And wonderfully filthy. And—

“I’m not done with you yet.”

And any further thoughts he had were all but obliterated by that single sentence, certain and promising. He swallowed, and didn’t even have the presence of mind to argue when Astarion’s hands went to his hips to move him.

Not that he would have, anyway.

Instead, Kelyn reached up to clumsily pull Astarion to him once he could turn over enough to kiss him. He caught the elf’s lower lip between his teeth, then murmured in a breathless giggle: “And just what else do you intend for me, then?”

Astarion laughed, kissed him back, and tugged his pants down to his thighs, before his fingers flitted to one of the buckles on his boots instead. “Need I remind you that you have days to make up to me, my dear?”

Kelyn snorted, tried not to smile, and wanted to protest—something about how it hadn’t been as long as he made it sound—but Astarion cut him off with another kiss before he could get a word out. Instead, he let that distract him, kissing him back.

They were all fumbling hands and breathless, rushed kisses: Astarion did his best to loosen Kelyn’s boots (cursing against his lips for a second while Kelyn giggled) while the drow insistently tugged his shirt upwards; the elf only sat back to pull it over his head once Kelyn had kicked his boots off, and then they were kissing again, Kelyn’s hands brushing up the too-cool skin of Astarion’s sides as the elf turned his attention to mouth at his neck just under his jaw, his fingers hooking in the drow’s pants to tug them the rest of the way off.

The rest of his clothing quickly followed, tossed haphazardly into the floor. Kelyn’s hands went to Astarion’s hips, then slid down his thighs, tugging his pants along with them until the elf stopped kissing him long enough to laugh and step back to get out of them. And then he was back between Kelyn’s thighs, pushing them apart with his own and kissing him again with a breathy sigh.

Kelyn ran the tip of his tongue against the length of one of Astarion’s fangs, then deliberately pressed into the sharp point: there was a brief spark of pain and heat and Astarion growled, actually growled, short and low in his throat and predatory. His hand jerked up to close gently around Kelyn’s throat, to hold him still when he pulled back to shoot him a dark, dirty look.

Kelyn just smiled back, swiping his tongue across his lips. He could taste his own blood on it, even if it was only a tiny bit.

Astarion snorted, sitting back and letting his hold loosen so he could slide his hand down Kelyn’s chest. “Count yourself lucky I’m in a forgiving mood,” he chided, punctuating the statement with a flick of his thumb that made the point of his nail catch Kelyn’s nipple; the drow sucked in a sharp breath, squirming in response.

“Not that you deserve it,” Astarion continued, poorly attempting to hide his smug smile as he braced himself against Kelyn’s chest to lean over him, “but tell me what you want, love. I’m feeling generous.”

“Oh, are you?” Kelyn fluttered his lashes at that, smoothing one hand up Astarion’s forearm. “Anything I want? Anything at all?”

Astarion quirked an eyebrow. “I’d say you’re unlikely to surprise me...but I have my suspicions about you.”

Kelyn’s face heated at the subtle jab. He still lacked large parts of his memory...but he too had his suspicions about himself. Blessedly, they were only suspicions, and (mostly) unconfirmed.

Clearing his throat, he tipped his head. “Well, let’s try this one, and see if it sends you running.” He paused a second for dramatic effect, then finished, his voice softening: “Kiss me.”

Astarion’s ears flicked, the corners of his mouth twitching with a genuine, if hastily-concealed, smile. He clicked his tongue, leaning in.

“Scandalous,” he murmured, voice low, before brushing his lips against Kelyn’s. The first kiss was just a peck, playfully chaste, and Kelyn thought Astarion might leave it at that, cheekily fulfilling the letter of the request while ignoring the spirit of it. But then Astarion kissed him again, and again, and again, each firmer and more needy until he swept his tongue back into Kelyn’s mouth with a low groan.

Astarion’s hand had gone to the back of his head to hold him still while he kissed him, and the other swept down Kelyn’s side, his nails idly scraping the drow’s skin, just enough to make him shiver and squirm into the touch. His hand brushed across Kelyn’s hip, then the outside of his thigh, before sliding between his legs.

The drow arched his hips off the bed with a little hiss when Astarion’s fingers brushed against him again. He wasn’t quite capable of getting hard again yet, and he was still uncomfortably sensitive, but he didn’t protest; instead, he shifted into it with a little gasp, the sharp pleasure-pain of Astarion’s careful touch rendering his thoughts all fuzzy and muddled.

Astarion had the nerve to chuckle about it, and worse, Kelyn knew it was because he knew exactly what effect he had on him. Just to drive it home, he caught Kelyn’s lip between his fangs, biting down almost deep enough to draw blood, just enough to hurt.

He wasn’t sure whether his moan was in response to that, or to Astarion sliding his fingers back into him.

Astarion moved on to kiss his throat, murmuring into it in an approving purr: “Look at you. Freshly fucked and still so eager for more.”

Kelyn huffed out a low growl of a noise, and he could have protested that this was actually all too much (it was, but not enough that he wanted it to stop) or a simple physical effect beyond his control and Astarion’s fault besides (it was, but it wasn’t as if he minded) or that his body’s apparent eagerness was no indication of his actual eagerness (it was, and he was actually very put out that the rest of him couldn’t catch up with his brain already).

Instead, he squirmed, as if in response to the touch, using the motion to push his throat into Astarion’s mouth and “accidentally” nick himself on his fangs. The sharp, hot prick of pain cut through the fog of arousal, for a second, before the aching aftermath settled in to join it.

“That’s rich,” he murmured, his voice low, “coming from you.”

Astarion gave no acknowledgment that he’d noticed the nick, but the breathy way he huffed against Kelyn’s skin gave him away. He mouthed at his throat for a second before answering, his tongue sweeping against his skin and pushing against the spot he’d nicked, chasing even that minuscule taste of Kelyn’s blood.

He still didn’t bite down, instead moving on to his collar bone.

“Is it?” He thrust his fingers into Kelyn lazily, like his was taking his time to appreciate every second of it. Kelyn’s breath shook. “And just what are you accusing me of, my dear?”

“You,” Kelyn answered, pausing to swallow before he continued, “are insatiable when it comes to anything you like, sweetheart.”

Astarion laughed at that: low, and dark, and dangerous. He pulled back to smile up at Kelyn, all glinting fangs and shining eyes, and pressed the pads of his fingers just so inside him to coax a shaking whine from his throat.

“Oh, we’ll see which one of us is insatiable,” he purred, before kissing Kelyn.

It really was entirely unfair: Astarion knew just how to touch him to make him whimper and whine and squirm, and even when it was too much the sharp pleasure-pain of his touch only excited Kelyn more, so it was difficult for even him to be sure if he was trying to squirm away from it or move into it. Gods, he felt so good and it wasn’t enough, and the precious little thought Kelyn could manage focused on only one thing.

“C-can—” His breath shook, a whine catching in his throat as his back arched, his nails digging into Astarion’s shoulders. The elf make a soft, purry, questioning noise into his throat. “C-can I make one more request?”

“You can,” Astarion answered, moving to mouth at the corner of his jaw before pressing a kiss there, then catching his earlobe between his teeth. Kelyn whined, shivering as Astarion brushed his nose against the edge of his ear. “I may not honor it, though.”

Two could play that game. Kelyn tilted his head, catching Astarion’s earlobe between his teeth in a short, sharp tug, then sweeping his tongue against it; it caught the elf off guard, making his breath catch in an audible groan that sent a shiver down Kelyn’s spine. He smiled, brushing his lips against his ear.

“Make love to me,” he murmured, his voice low, and Astarion chuckled.

“That,” he answered, “I was already planning to do.”

He kissed Kelyn with a soft sigh as he slipped his fingers out of him, brushing his hand back up to his hips to adjust him.

Astarion kissed him, slow and deep, but pulled back to press his forehead to Kelyn’s as he slid back into him. Kelyn huffed out a short breath at the intensity of it, brushing a fleeting kiss against Astarion’s jaw. His gaze was soft and dark and he was, gods, so impossibly beautiful that Kelyn almost couldn’t stand it.

He was in no rush this time with the edge taken off, so he took his time with Kelyn, peppering kisses against his cheek and jaw and down to his throat as he rocked his hips into him. He could have been rougher, but he wasn’t: he was gentle, sliding a little deeper with every thrust, and even the way he nibbled at Kelyn’s throat was nearly-painless.

At least, until a sudden sharp snap of his hips made Kelyn arch his back with a short gasp, his skin catching against Astarion’s fangs. He could almost convince himself he hadn’t done it on purpose, even.

Astarion chuckled against him, brushing a soothing hand across his skin and unable to help himself from sucking at the spot he’d nicked. The next jerk of his hips made Kelyn moan shakily, his nails biting into Astarion’s skin wherever they landed.

Astarion released his skin with a wet pop (Kelyn was dimly aware he’d likely left a mark behind, and the thought made him moan again, whimpery and breathless) and kissed him again, briefly, before breathing, his voice low and rough with arousal: “You are incredible, darling, do you know that? Absolutely perfect.” He kissed Kelyn again, like he couldn’t help it, then continued: “Tell me what you want, love.”

“Anything?” Kelyn couldn’t keep the giddy giggle out of his voice, and Astarion smiled against his lips.

“Anything,” he confirmed, “and it’s yours.”

Kelyn caught Astarion’s lower lip between his teeth, biting down enough to make him hiss in surprise before he answered.

“Harder.”

Astarion laughed at that, short and sharp and delighted, and kissed him again, this time ending it with a bite of his own.

“I should have known,” he murmured, and did exactly that.

The first thrust of his hips punched a short gasp out of Kelyn’s lungs, and then Astarion sat back to get a better angle, one hand sweeping up the back of his thigh to lift that leg onto his shoulder. Kelyn choked out a shrill noise at the change in angle, the way it let Astarion bury himself deeper inside him, the way he raked his nails across his skin like he wanted to draw blood. Gods, some part of Kelyn hoped he had.

Astarion’s other hand caught his, fingers intertwining with Kelyn’s, and it was the only steady thing the drow could focus on to anchor himself against the onslaught of pleasure-pain that came from the relentless pace Astarion had set; his head tipped back, his eyes fluttering closed, and he barely had enough breath to moan and whimper and gasp, much less formulate a coherent thought. The second Astarion’s hand moved to close around him was too much; making Kelyn arch into his touch with a shrill, breathless cry as he spilled across his stomach.

Astarion hissed, then breathed, shaking and half-forgotten, “Beautiful.” He readjusted himself to press a kiss to Kelyn’s collar bone, and when the drow squirmed up into it and his fangs sliced into his skin, Astarion hissed again, this time sharp and vampiric.

The taste of his blood, minuscule as it was, seemed to be all it took; Astarion caught Kelyn’s wrists, pinning them to the bed as he bucked his hips into him, almost viciously sharp and short; Kelyn wanted to giggle at the response, but couldn’t manage anything more than a shaky moan, instead letting himself sink into fuzzy, overstimulated afterglow as Astarion chased his own pleasure. It was almost too much, but then—oh, gods, the noise Astarion made against him, low and throaty as he twitched inside him with the force of his own orgasm. Gods. Beautiful.

For a moment, neither of them did more than catch their breath (or the vampiric equivalent, Kelyn supposed), until Astarion finally loosened his hold on Kelyn’s wrists to straighten.

And...the look Astarion leveled on him was...gods. Even with the fuzzy haze of arousal, his eyes were sharp and focused entirely on Kelyn, his fangs and irises gleaming as he panted. He looked half-dazed and ravenous, and Kelyn wasn’t even sure if the look was more hunger or lust.

Not that he much cared, in truth. He had always been ready and willing to satisfy both.

And now, oh...

“G-gods,” Kelyn whimpered, his voice shaking. He choked out a little giggle, shakily rubbing the heel of his hand into his forehead. Little spots of pain bloomed all over his neck and chest when he moved, and the reminders were dizzying. Even right now, even when he was trying and his skin was littered with little “accidental” nicks from Astarion’s fangs, he hadn’t been able to make Astarion break and ask first. That was...

That was deliciously maddening.

“You...” He couldn’t help but giggle again, giddy and helpless. “You have so much self-control...”

Astarion cut him off with a short, vampiric hiss. “You have been teasing me.” He moved, tangling a hand into Kelyn’s hair to yank his head back and immediately burying his face in his throat, where he growled: “You cheeky little brat.”

Kelyn giggled, fumbling a little. The skin his hands landed on was warm to the touch from his own body heat, and that thought made his head go all fuzzy. He slipped his arms loosely around Astarion’s waist.

“We ask before we bite,” he reminded him with a grin, his voice still unsteady and breathless, even as he arched his throat into Astarion’s mouth.

Astarion growled again in answer, then nipped: but only with his front teeth, and only enough to be a reprimanding pinch instead of breaking skin. Kelyn wouldn’t have even cared if he had broken skin, if Astarion had taken the way he leaned into his mouth as permission to bite, as he had in the past. But, apparently, he wanted explicit permission tonight.

Or, more likely, he wanted to prove a point.

“Yes,” he murmured, “we do.”

He didn’t let Kelyn answer, nipping him again before he let go of his hair to move downwards; Kelyn sucked in a short breath as Astarion trailed his lips across his chest to catch his nipple between his teeth, flicking his tongue against the sensitive flesh. His eyes darted upwards to meet Kelyn’s when the drow hissed and squirmed under him in response, and his look was pointed.

He didn’t linger, continuing downward to edge a firm but fangless bite into the sensitive skin on his ribs, then down further still. Finally, he was nuzzling into the soft skin on the inside of Kelyn’s thighs: his left, first, where he simply mouthed harmlessly at him and peppered little kisses and swipes of his tongue. Then he shifted attention to the right, and was immediately drawn to the small pale patch there, where he actually put his teeth to Kelyn’s skin.

He loved that spot: it was one of his favorite places to bite. Kelyn’s breath shook, his face hot and his thoughts fuzzy.

But Astarion didn’t bite: he teased, he sucked, he even scraped the needle tips of his fangs over his skin and drew the tiniest trickle of blood, but he didn’t bite. When he moved, he’d left a red bruise behind, bright against the pale skin.

He did the same just a bit below it, this bruise darker, and then another beside that. Kelyn’s breathing was ragged now, his heart pounding, and he couldn’t even twitch away from the too-much attention, because Astarion had his arm wrapped around his thigh to keep him from doing just that.

Astarion worked his way inwards and upwards, and despite everything, Kelyn was already half-hard again; the elf flashed him a brief, smug smile, before his mouth back to use.

Kelyn huffed out a whimpery, nearly-protesting moan as Astarion swept his tongue up the length of his cock, his hips twitching away. The elf chuckled, deliberately blowing a breath across his wet skin, and Kelyn jerked his head back with a hiss, his fingers digging into the bed under him.

“Astarion.”

“Mm?” He soothed the rush of chill with another swipe of his tongue: his mouth wasn’t exactly warm, but it was certainly warmer. He pressed a kiss against him, and Kelyn whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut.

He couldn’t much help responding to Astarion—and there was something dizzying about that, knowing how helpless he was against Astarion, even despite the protests of his own biology—but. Gods. He was tired, and he wasn’t sure if exhaustion or arousal was winning out right now.

“I don’t— I can’t—” He took a shaky breath, swallowed, and tried again. “Don’t know if I can—”

“You can,” Astarion cut him off, his voice so low and soft and sweet that it made Kelyn whimper again. The elf squeezed his thigh, before brushing his hand up to his hip and gently kneading the muscle there. He brushed another soft, tickling kiss against him. “One more time, darling. For me.”

Kelyn swallowed, taking a shaky breath. There was no point in taking time to weigh his decision, really: he’d give Astarion anything if he asked for it. He looked down to find the elf watching him, waiting, his eyes searching.

The drow swallowed again, exhaled slowly, and nodded.

“One more time,” he murmured.

He felt Astarion smile against his skin, before the elf murmured, “That’s my good boy.” He pressed another kiss against him, then moved to close his mouth around the head of his cock.

No amount of exhaustion could contend with Astarion when he was determined: he knew every trick to make Kelyn so much putty in his hands, and he had no sense of playing fair. He hummed softly around Kelyn’s cock, sliding his tongue against the head before taking him about halfway. Then, before that could be too much and edge past pleasure into discomfort, he pulled off, skimming just his lips against the velvet skin under them, until Kelyn was whimpering and twitching his hips up into his mouth in a nearly-silent plea.

It was too much and not enough: even just the air on his skin was too much, and Astarion’s mouth was soothingly lukewarm in comparison, but once he had his mouth around him he did things with his tongue and the barest edges of his teeth that did not help and still felt so fucking good he could barely stand it—

Once Kelyn was breathing hard and arching his hips up into it, Astarion finally took him all the way with a pleased hum. And then, gods, he stayed there, taking full advantage of the fact that he didn’t need to breathe to keep Kelyn right there, right on the edge of almost too much—

And then he pulled back, his face flushed and his mouth wet. It took a lot to bring color to his skin unless he’d fed recently; that thought alone made Kelyn’s head go all sorts of fuzzy-soft, helpless with adoration.

He’d expected Astarion to move. He hadn’t expected the elf to straddle him, casting his eyes about before he relocated the bottle that had been lost somewhere in the blankets. He emptied some of the contents into his hand before setting it aside, smiling as he leaned back to give Kelyn a better view and slipped his hand between his legs.

Astarion made a low little sound in his throat, a little hum of pleasure, as he slid his fingers into himself. Kelyn’s hands slid against his thighs (when had they gotten there?) and his attention was entirely focused on the movement of Astarion’s hand, the way he couldn’t help himself but moan and bite his lip and twitch his hips into his own touch.

Gods, more than just about anything, Kelyn wanted to be the one to do that, to make him moan and writhe into his touch. His fingers twitched sharply against his thighs.

Before he could suggest it, though, Astarion slid his fingers back out of himself with a shaking breath, instead brushing them against the length of Kelyn’s cock in a slick, feather-soft caress. Kelyn choked out a shrill, wordless whimper, his heart pounding with anticipation as the elf took hold of him, stroking him slowly. Astarion’s eyes gleamed, bright and eager, as he adjusted his weight, and he let out a short huff of breath as he guided Kelyn’s cock into himself.

“Gods.” Astarion flattened his palm to Kelyn’s stomach as he slid down on him, agonizingly slowly, briefly sinking his fangs into his own lower lip as he bit down with a groan. His breath shook when he let go, and for a second, Kelyn wondered if it was for effect—it wasn’t as if he needed to breathe at all.

“Maybe I should do this more often.” Astarion spoke in a whisper as he rolled his hips, breathless and giddy. “I almost forgot how good you feel.”

His half-lidded gaze and smug smile gave him away: he was looking for Kelyn’s response to the teasing, and Kelyn couldn’t manage much more but a whimper and gasp—particularly when Astarion rocked his hips against him, clenching as he took him again.

He was so good, too good, slick and cool around Kelyn’s overheated, oversensitive flesh; Kelyn couldn’t help but jerk his hips up into him, his hands fluttering to Astarion’s hips before the elf caught them, pinning them down by his head. His smile was all fangs.

“Nah ah,” he chirped, squeezing Kelyn’s wrists to make his point even as he rocked his hips. “Be a good boy, darling. Don’t move.”

Kelyn whined, and he wanted to thrash, to claw at the bed or his hair or Astarion’s pretty, pale skin; instead, he just clenched his hands, hissing between his teeth: “Astarion, please.”

“You can beg if you like,” Astarion answered with a short little giggle. “See if it works for you.”

He pushed himself back, exhaling with a sharp jerk of his hips that made Kelyn’s head tip back with a hiss. Above it, Astarion continued, giddily: “Now where was I? Right.”

He braced himself on Kelyn’s ribs to lean over him, his breath shaking and his nails biting into the drow’s skin as he spoke, throaty and low: “So warm. Gods, it’s like you’re burning up, darling. Do I really drive you that mad?” He giggled again, breathless, then leaned in, pulling Kelyn forward so he could whisper in his ear.

“Because you drive me mad,” he breathed, his nails biting into Kelyn’s skin. “Your scent, your voice, and gods, you feel so good, just enough of a stretch to make it worth it.” A low growl entered his tone: “Perfect. Like you were made just. For. Me.”

“Astarion,” Kelyn almost sobbed, and before he could catch himself his hands had gone back to the elf’s thighs, his hips twitching up into him despite himself because, gods, he just needed to fuck him properly—

Astarion chirped out a little laugh, slapping the back of Kelyn’s hand with a sharp sting. “Handsy,” he giggled, before cupping his face. “Poor thing. Is it too much? Should I stop for a moment?”

Kelyn growled in response when he slowed to a teasing roll, not enough to satisfy. Astarion grinned back, his eyes bright.

“Yes, love? Is something wrong?” He didn’t play coy long, bending to murmur the next words directly into Kelyn’s ear: “You know what you want, my darling.” He traced his tongue along the edge, nuzzled into the soft skin of his throat, and scraped his teeth there. It made Kelyn whimper, arching into it, and he felt Astarion smile against him, cupping a hand around the back of his head and threading his fingers into his hair. “Ask for it.” His grip tightened suddenly, jerking Kelyn’s head to the side, just a little. “Beg.”

Kelyn’s breath shook, his head fuzzy from the aftermath of two orgasms and an impending third based sheerly on how Astarion’s hips rolled against him, from the sharp pulse of pain, from the teasing proximity of the elf’s pretty, pretty fangs so close to his skin. What did pretense matter, in the face of all that?

He knew the answer Astarion expected, and he also knew the right one.

“Please.” He arched his head back, trying to push his throat into Astarion’s mouth, his grip tight on the elf’s hip as he shakily slid his other hand into his hair, trying to encourage him. “Please, Astarion, bite me—”

Astarion did almost before the words were even out, sinking his fangs into Kelyn’s throat with a rough noise like a growl or a moan. Kelyn jerked into it with a sharp gasp, trying to get more, trying—

It didn’t last: Astarion let go almost immediately, exhaling a sharp breath against Kelyn’s skin. Before the drow could even protest, he bit him again: higher, just under his jaw. He didn’t linger there either, pulling back just enough to swipe his tongue across Kelyn’s bloodied skin before moving to sink his teeth into his shoulder instead. He moved on from there, briefly mouthed at the middle of his throat, worrying the skin with his fangs like he was going to bite—

(and, gods, the thought of his trachea being between Astarion’s teeth, and that he could cut off his breath just by biting down if he wanted—)

—then sank them into the other side of his neck instead. Then again, just below, and again, and this time he finally bit deep with a low growl.

Kelyn’s hands went to his back, his hips snapping upwards into Astarion; the elf choked out a muffled moan against his throat, but was only dislodged when Kelyn rolled him onto his side, still buried in him. Astarion hissed, pulling him back and into a sharp, bruising kiss, and growled against his lips: “Don’t stop.”

He kissed him again before Kelyn could answer, his fangs nicking the drow’s lips when Kelyn shoved him over onto his back and slammed back into him. Astarion was all claws and teeth now, nails scraping up Kelyn’s back as he pulled the drow back to him and sank his fangs back into his throat with a snarl, his thighs clenching so tight around the drow that Kelyn wouldn’t have been able to escape him if he’d wanted to.

One hand left Kelyn’s back, and he realized a second later it was so Astarion could shove it between them to take hold of himself, making a shrill, desperate noise into Kelyn’s throat where he refused to let go. If not for the fangs in his neck, he would have sat back to watch Astarion get himself off; instead, Kelyn settled for burying his face against the elf’s skin and trying to drag him closer, savoring the choking, wet moans Astarion made into his throat with every thrust of his hips.

He finally let go with a shrill gasp when Kelyn’s own teeth dug into his shoulder, not enough to break skin but enough to bruise; a second later, Astarion arched under him, clenching around him with a strangled moan that was half a sob.

That was all it took for Kelyn to come inside him, almost painfully hard this time, and he didn’t even have a word for the noise he made into Astarion’s skin. He was vaguely aware of the elf’s hands going into his hair, then pulling his head up so Astarion could kiss him. It tasted like blood, and Kelyn sank into it with a shaking moan. For a time, that was all he had the conscious thought to be aware of: the dim too-sensitive haze of afterglow and the scent and taste of his own blood and Astarion kissing him, breathless and slow and deep.

Finally, though, that all began to fade, and exhaustion hit him hard.

Kelyn all but collapsed onto Astarion with a content sigh, readjusting so his head was resting on the elf’s chest. Astarion was still breathing, for now, and something about that was comforting and dangerously close to lulling Kelyn into trance, even if no heartbeat accompanied it.

The way Astarion’s fingers combed soothingly through his hair probably wasn’t helping, either.

“Poor babe,” Astarion murmured, soft and a bit mocking, “have I tired you out?”

“Mmn,” Kelyn answered, and Astarion chuckled.

He ached, everywhere, in a deliciously pleasant way, and his fingertips felt a bit numb and cold, and he was sure he’d never felt better. He wasn’t sure how long Astarion humored him before the elf shifted, jostling him a little.

“Darling. Your neck.”

“Mm?” Kelyn nuzzled into his chest, fuzzily wondering what his neck possibly had to do with anything.

“You’re still bleeding, love,” Astarion continued with the tone of someone explaining something very obvious to someone a bit slow, and trying to be patient about it. “A fair bit, actually.”

“So?” Kelyn turned his head to better press his face into Astarion’s skin with a pleased sigh, and the elf sighed back in response, decidedly less pleased and more exasperated.

“Kelyn, my sweet, stupid, mortal beloved: you need to heal yourself, or you need to let me up so I can fix it.”

“Mmmno,” Kelyn mumbled in response, tightening his hold around Astarion’s waist. The elf huffed, sharply, but didn’t say anything more when Kelyn began humming to himself.

He felt the magic tingle in him in response, like a static crackle somewhere in his chest and arms, not quite reaching his palms and not quite focused enough for anything useful. Ugh. Focus was hard; his thoughts kept trying to drift away before he could grasp them properly. Usually it wasn’t this difficult: a simple healing spell shouldn’t require words, or proper music.

Ugh.

He took a breath, reluctantly pulling away from Astarion, just enough to get his violin hand free and enough space to speak. Or, rather, to sing:

“My love was a lass from Shadowdale,” he began, and yes, there, that helped: that brought his focus back a bit, his fingers absently flitting through string positions.

“A beauty with hair of silver;

A pirate from Presper stole her away

The sea take all pirates from Presper, brave boys,

The sea take the pirates of Presper—”

Magic lit his hand, glowing from within his skin, and Kelyn blinked, remembering why he’d summoned the spell at all; he trailed off into quiet humming, reaching up to brush his fingertips across his skin, sealing each bite Astarion had left behind. It left his throat and shoulders tingling pleasantly: still a little sore, but no longer oozing blood, which was apparently a concern. His fingers still felt a bit numb when the magic faded from them and he let his hand drop, but...hells, he’d survived worse. Maybe now someone would stop fussing.

Someone made a quiet sound in his throat, indistinct but...approving? Maybe?

“Better.” Astarion brushed a kiss against his forehead, but instead of settling and letting Kelyn doze again, he insisted on moving. “Now, come on. Up with you.”

“Why.” Kelyn realized he was sounding dangerously petulant and, well, whiny, and for a moment the thought made him giggle a bit: that was something Yurissa was far more guilty of than him. Or Astarion, for that matter.

“You need a bath is why,” Astarion answered. “In fact, we both do now, thank you very much.”

Kelyn considered pointing out that that was his fault. Instead, he answered: “Don’t need a bath, need cuddles.”

“We’re both filthy,” Astarion retorted. “Up. Cuddles after, if you’re good.”

Kelyn grumbled a bit, but didn’t argue when Astarion shifted to slide out from under him, since he couldn’t very well debate that point; he hadn’t been in the best state to begin with, and now that attention had been drawn to it, he was uncomfortably aware of the sweat and spit and blood and other things starting to dry tacky and stiff on his skin. Ugh.

He was so aware of it (and still struggling a bit to focus) that he didn’t fully register what Astarion was doing as he stood, turned, and bent to slide his arms under Kelyn: not until he straightened, lifting him off the bed and turning in one motion. The drow yelped in surprise, his arms going around Astarion’s neck, and the elf chuckled as he started across the room.

“You think you’d be used to it by now, darling.”

“Oh pardon me,” Kelyn retorted, “it’s not often you’ve flaunted your legendary vampiric strength like this.” It was a thing Astarion had discovered some time after they’d rid themselves of the tadpoles: perhaps a thing that his tadpole had been suppressing, like so many other vampiric traits, and something he hadn’t known he’d had while kept teetering on the edge of starvation under Cazador. But, even so, Astarion hadn’t made use of it quite like this very often, and it was easy to forget: particularly when the inside of Kelyn’s head felt like a wad of particularly easily-confused cotton.

“If you want me to flaunt it more often,” Astarion answered cheerfully, “then you need only say, my sweet.”

Kelyn rolled his eyes with a snort. “And make you even more insufferable?”

“Darling, don’t pretend you don’t love to suffer for me,” Astarion murmured with a smile, before pressing another kiss to his forehead. Kelyn weakly swatted him away, shifting in his arms to nuzzle into his neck.

Without a conversation to focus on, the next...however long...was a fuzzy sort of blur: he was distantly aware of Astarion setting him down and fussing back and forth for a bit, then coaxing him into a bath that was much too warm and lovely (even if the water did sting a bit against the still-raw scratches on his back). Fortunately, he then seemed content to let Kelyn be, and the drow was all too happy to lay against his chest, drowsily savoring the heat and brush of Astarion’s fingers, first combing through his hair, then moving on to scrub the blood and sweat from his skin, especially gently around the tender, half-healed marks covering his throat and shoulders.

The scent, too. That was nice. It was something...woody, and floral, and sweet, and Kelyn couldn’t remember any of the actual scents involved although he was vaguely certain he should.

“This is nice,” he murmured aloud, brushing the back of his hand against Astarion’s arm. “The scent. Is it new?”

“Do you like it?” Even in his drowsy half-dazed state, Kelyn recognized the attempt at nonchalance, and how it was given away by the bright lilt in Astarion’s voice. He smiled as the elf continued: “Just a little something I threw together while you left me all alone.”

Kelyn tried to listen, he really did, but his focus wavered again when Astarion continued, listing the various notes and how much trouble he’d had narrowing down a combination he’d liked. Instead, he let himself listen to the general sound of his voice, his attention focused more on the warmth of the water and the touch of his hands than his words.

He wasn’t sure when he’d actually started dozing, or when Astarion noticed, and was only aware it had happened at all when the elf jostled him again with a little huff.

“Adorable as you are,” he said, “if you’re going to drift off, then at the very least you’re going to do it in bed.”

Kelyn snorted, shifting to nuzzle into Astarion’s throat. “’M perfectly comfortable right here,” he mumbled, and Astarion sighed.

“For now, yes.” He brushed a hand up Kelyn’s side, and his voice softened. “Come on, darling.”

Kelyn sighed back, but pushed away from Astarion so he could move. “You’re being very demanding, you know.”

“Yes,” Astarion agreed with a smile, leaning in to brush a kiss against the tip of his nose. “You left me alone for so long, after all. I’ve earned the right to be demanding.”

“Being cute about it doesn’t make it okay,” Kelyn retorted as the elf stood, and Astarion just laughed in response, pulling the drow along with him.

Any further complaint was cut off by Astarion toweling them both off, with particular attention paid to roughly rubbing the moisture out of Kelyn’s hair until the drow squawked and swatted at him in playful protest. Then he guided Kelyn back to bed, pausing just long enough to replace the blankets before tucking the drow in.

Instead of then having the decency to join him, however, he knelt by the bed, absently tucking Kelyn’s damp hair behind his ear.

“You need to eat something, love,” he murmured. “You lost a lot of blood.”

Kelyn snorted, ears flicking. “And whose fault is that?”

“As I recall, you asked for it,” Astarion answered, and Kelyn very nearly wanted to swat him again for sounding so smug about it. Or kiss him. Probably the second one.

“What I need,” he answered instead, “is for someone to come to bed.” He tried to grab the elf, but had to get his hand out from under the blanket to do it, and by then Astarion had darted back a step, leaving Kelyn to ineffectively swat at empty air where he’d just been.

“In due time, darling,” he answered, in a tone somewhere between soothing and a bit condescending. Kelyn huffed. “I’ll be right back. Try not to fall asleep on me.”

“Can’t fall asleep on you if you won’t come to bed,” Kelyn answered sullenly, tucking his hand back under the blanket and watching as Astarion dressed and turned to leave the room.

Belatedly, just before he could step out into the hall, Kelyn added: “Elves don’t sleep!” Astarion half-turned to give him a wry, sidelong look, then waved the comment off before disappearing. With nothing else to focus on, Kelyn huffed and let his eyes drift closed, snuggling into his pillow.

He had missed being in his own bed. (Even if someone was refusing to come cuddle.)

Chapter Text

It must have been morning. Astarion noticed the dim spill of sunlight peeking under the curtains as he headed downstairs to the kitchen. For the most part, he couldn’t help but preen a little at that, even knowing there was absolutely no way Kelyn was going to be awake once he returned.

Ah well. He might have tended towards stubborn and difficult when he was tired, but he was cute, too. Astarion decided he could forgive him as he put the kettle on.

He heard Yurissa before he saw her; the girl could be surprisingly sneaky despite her usual inability to be quiet, but never when she’d just woken up. Which, judging by her sleepy voice and the hour, she had.

“You’re cooking?” He cast a glance at her, to see the tiefling standing in the doorway, still in her night clothes and very much looking like she’d just stumbled out of bed. She blinked drowsily at him, her glowing eyes bright as embers despite her obvious grogginess.

“No,” Astarion said, and Yurissa snorted, tail twitching like an irritated cat. She finally seemed to have registered that he was only cutting up a few things that didn’t need cooking.

“Well, whatever. Either way, you don’t eat, and that is not blood. Unless—”

Before Astarion could say anything, she brightened, her ears twitching and her tail tip flicking upwards. “Oh! Is dad home?!”

“He is,” Astarion answered, and then added sharply before she could dart away: “And he needs rest. Leave him be, Yurissa.”

“Oh, please. I’m more important, and he can’t be that tired—” She cut herself off, frowning, then her tail curled in on itself. “Unless you mean...” Her eyes flitted to his neck—or rather, where his shirt gapped open at his shoulder, exposing a bit of his skin where Kelyn had bitten him. “Oh. Gross!”

Astarion clicked his tongue sharply, waving her away, and Yurissa stuck her tongue out in a theatrical grimace before turning to leave. Shaking his head, Astarion returned his attention to what he was doing.

It was nothing fancy, in truth—mostly a collection of fruit and cheese—and Kelyn would need a proper meal once he was up to it, but Astarion doubted that would be happening for at least the next few hours. So for now, something simple would do, and was better than nothing. He was naggingly aware that meat would be most helpful—preferably something red, that had been alive very recently—but that was beyond his ability to throw together quickly. And rather beyond his cooking skills, for that matter, as much as Kelyn did like his meat underdone.

Hopefully rest and magic would do most of the work.

He moved the kettle off the stove once the water was boiling, then went to dig around the cupboard until he found Kelyn and Yurissa’s collection of teas. Astarion wasn’t entirely certain which Kelyn might prefer just now, but he made an educated guess, selecting one of the tins. It smelled strongly of bergamot and rose petals, and under that, lavender and dried berries. Astarion wasn’t going to claim he knew the exact details of what all was in it, but he did know it was one Kelyn tended to favor when he was in a more sedate mood.

He doubted the drow would have enough energy to be picky, besides.

He paused for a moment to look after Yurissa, but the tiefling didn’t reappear, apparently having been chased back to bed for now. Satisfied, Astarion gathered up the plate and mug, returning upstairs.

“Darling?”

There was—predictably—no answer when he shouldered the bedroom door open, and Astarion paused with a fond, exasperated sigh. Kelyn was exactly how he’d left him...and far less responsive, seemingly having all but passed out nearly immediately. He shook his head, setting the plate and mug down on his nightstand and reaching out to brush his fingers against the drow’s cheek.

“I believe I explicitly told you not to do that.”

The drow started a little at the touch, then huffed out a quiet breath without opening his eyes. “Wasn’t asleep,” he mumbled. “Elves don’t sleep.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “You’re a modern miracle then, darling. You should be studied, to figure out what’s wrong with you.”

Kelyn snorted loudly, cracking an eye open. He pushed himself up with a groan, swaying briefly before giving a little shake of his head. Astarion clicked his tongue to get his attention, nodding to his nightstand.

“Eat. Before you actually pass out.”

Kelyn blinked, ears pricking a little as he caught up. Then his eyes flicked to Astarion. He didn’t say anything, readjusting himself...then patting Astarion’s side of the bed pointedly and giving him a pleading, big-eyed look complete with fluttering lashes.

Astarion rolled his eyes and tried very hard not to smile, joining him in bed and letting the drow shuffle over to lean into him as he picked up the mug, breathing in with a content sigh.

Astarion leaned across him to retrieve the plate with a huff, setting it rather pointedly in Kelyn’s lap. He plucked one of the pieces of cheese off it—a sharp orange one that he knew Kelyn particularly liked.

“Eat.”

“Pushy,” Kelyn muttered into his tea with a smile, but he took it without protest.

Astarion tipped his head to lean against Kelyn’s, nuzzling into his hair—damp, scented like teakwood, vanilla, and jasmine—and letting his hand drop to rub against Kelyn’s thigh through the blanket. The drow said nothing, sipping his tea with a pleased hum and shifting his weight to lean further into Astarion as he picked at his food.

“You’re very sweet, you know,” Kelyn murmured, voice soft, once he’d gotten about halfway through it. He tipped his head into Astarion’s throat, and Astarion chuckled.

“I know,” he answered, singsong. “You’re blessed to have me.”

Kelyn didn’t respond with any snark of his own; instead, his voice soft and warm, he said simply: “I am.”

The answer brought a rush of warmth to his cheeks—and the knowledge that that heat was possible only because of Kelyn’s own blood only made it that much worse—and Astarion hid his smile by burying his face back in Kelyn’s hair.

A bird had started singing loudly somewhere near the window when Kelyn finished, and Astarion pressed a kiss to the side of his head as he took the plate and mug from him. Kelyn snuggled back into bed as he left the room, watching him with half-lidded eyes.

Astarion didn’t tell him to stay awake, this time.

Yurissa was waiting for him when Astarion returned to the kitchen, dressed now. She’d put the kettle back on and was seemingly in the process of deciding which mug she wanted, but Astarion knew her: she was really just fretting about in the nervous, twitchy way she did when she was hovering, and trying not to look like that was exactly what she was doing.

He sighed, setting down the plate next to the sink before he turned to her. “Yes, Yurissa?”

The tiefling stilled, her tail going stiff for a moment before dropping close to her legs. She huffed out a breath, glaring up at him for a second, and then her expression softened. She looked down, making her way over to the tea cabinet as she answered.

“...he’s okay?”

Astarion pursed his lips, ears twitching. He cocked an eyebrow, leaning back against the kitchen counter as he answered.

“Tired, but well, yes. It was a long trip.”

Yurissa rolled her eyes, huffing again, and raised up on the tips of her hooves to grab one of the tins. A distinct whiff of pine smoke and tea leaves filled the air when she opened it. “Yeah, I’m sure it was just the trip, and not your fault—”

Astarion cut her off with a sharp click of his tongue. With anyone else, he would have probably elaborated on exactly how he had contributed to Kelyn’s current state of exhaustion (or at least shared a few particularly-scandalous details and let them fill in the rest), but...well.

“I’m neither confirming nor denying anything to you, Yurissa.”

She wrinkled her nose, tail tip flicking. “Yeah, that’s basically a confession. Ew.”

For a moment, she busied herself with filling her mug, then moved to sit at the kitchen table with a sigh. Astarion cocked his head, watching as she frowned down at her tea, her eyes troubled and distant. He let the silence stretch for a second, unsure if he should leave her to it just yet.

“...it’s stupid, I guess,” she said finally, her voice soft. Astarion’s ears twitched. “To still think about it, I mean.”

The elf moved to join her, sitting down across from her and lacing his fingers together under his chin. “Think about what?”

Yurissa paused, flicking her eyes up to meet his like she was surprised, even though she’d clearly been fishing for him to ask. Maybe she really hadn’t expected he would. Her gaze dropped back to her tea, and she raised it to take a sip before answering.

“The last time he left, to go to Moonrise,” she said finally. “It was just supposed to be a few days, but...” She swallowed, finishing in a quiet voice: “But then he never came back.”

Astarion frowned, letting her go silent. They’d never discussed it in-depth—and why would they?—but he knew the basics of what she was talking about. It was the very incident that had led to him meeting Kelyn, actually: when he’d gone to Moonrise Tower as Bhaal’s Chosen, only to have his skull chiseled open and a tadpole shoved into it, taking most of his memory along with it...including Yurissa, the daughter Kelyn hadn’t remembered he needed to return to.

He took a breath.

“Well, hells.” Yurissa looked up in surprise, and he turned in his chair to cast a look upstairs. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? If he never came back, who in the world is in my bed?”

Yurissa chirped out a short, surprised laugh at that, and Astarion cut his attention back to her.

“Yeah,” she answered, “yeah, fine, okay. Point made.” She dropped her eyes back to her mug, muttering into it with a smile: “Arse.”

Astarion chuckled, leaning his chin on his hand. “He’s fine, Yurissa. I promise you that.”

The tiefling snorted, ears twitching. “Y’know, despite whatever you did to him...”

Astarion flashed his fangs at her in a grin. “Despite that, yes.” He straightened. “He just needs rest. Which is not entirely my fault, thank you very much, so keep your judgy little looks to yourself.” Yurissa promptly shot him a spectacularly judgmental look over her mug in answer, and he continued: “Anyway, he’s an elf, remember. A few hours and he’ll be good as new, and you can talk his ear off all you want.”

“If you didn’t bite them off already—”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Astarion answered. “Disgusting. I only take blood, thank you.” He twitched his own ears, pursing his lips, then leaned in with a smile. “Besides, they’re much more fun to just nibble, it drives him mad—”

“Ugh.” Yurissa stood, hands clasped around her mug. “Fine, fine! I get it. You don’t need to be gross, I’ll leave. Sheesh.” She turned with a swish of fabric and a sharp, offended flick of her tail before trotting off, her hooves clicking on the floor.

Astarion chuckled, pushing himself up from the table and turning back to the stairs.

Unsurprisingly, Kelyn was as close to dead asleep as an elf could possibly get (at least, without significant effort). For a moment, Astarion paused in the doorway, smiling as he watched the drow, his breathing slow and soft. He’d gotten one hand out from under the blankets—his left, the one he held his violin with—and his fingers twitched a few times before going still.

After a few moments of silence, Kelyn murmured, his voice low and deep like it got when he was especially tired, or had just been tugged unwillingly out of trance: “You gonna come to bed or just keep staring?”

Astarion chuckled, pushing off the door frame to go join him.

“Just admiring you, love,” he answered, soft, as he slid into bed. Kelyn huffed, rolling over, but didn’t open his eyes when he answered.

“Admire me from here.” His touch was a little uncoordinated when he pulled Astarion to him, sliding his arms around his waist and all but squishing the elf face-first into his chest. Astarion laughed, pressing a kiss there before exhaling a soft, content little sigh against his skin.

He had missed the sound of his heartbeat.

“Love you,” Kelyn murmured, before brushing a slightly-clumsy kiss against the top of his head. “Missed you, too. Missed this.”

Astarion smiled.

“Of course you did,” he answered, brushing a hand down Kelyn’s side. “Rest, darling. I’m not going anywhere.”