Archive of Our Own

You heard an exasperated sigh from Astarion's tent shortly after you'd made it back from that collapsing village. You'd slugged your own pack off your back and were rummaging through your finds - a few pieces of silver, some wedges of cheese you might be able to slice the mold off of, a bottle of wine, and a pouch of gold from some poor sod who hadn't hid it well enough, among several other things. You and your companions had managed to make quite a few scenes, but remained mostly unscathed aside from minor cuts and some bruising. You'd even made some allies with a group of ogres. You huffed a laugh recalling the interaction, twisting yourself to dislodge a broken arrowhead from your leather breastplate when you heard more noise from Astarion's tent - the brush of his metal armor against itself and then a sharp, quiet gasp.

You paused your reminiscing, flicking the arrowhead from your fingertips as you walked over. He was normally so quiet when he closed himself away, though he'd never really shut up when he was around you and the others. There was always something quick witted he felt the need to interject into every serious conversation. "Astarion?" You called quietly from just outside of the tent flaps. Your eyes roamed the weathered fabric as you listened, seeing a smudge of blood against it. He grew silent within and for a moment, you considered walking away, but you weren't convinced that whatever was going on within didn't require assistance. And frankly, as much as you were happy for reprieve against his wry wit for the moment, his silence did alarm you. You'd feel less concerned if he decided to even yell at you. You tentatively lifted the flap, keeping your head down but poking it in, "Are you alright?"

He sighed slowly, annoyed. "Well, I should have expected you to poke your nose where it doesn't belong."

You smirked as you looked up - confident by his lack of yelling that he was at the very least decent. He was standing in the middle of his tent, cocking his head slightly towards you, a single fair brow crooked up as if he was waiting for you to state your purpose for intrusion. You focused on not letting your eyes meander around his tent, though you were curious what he hid within it. His black and gold armor was dented and warped around his body where it had been so perfectly wound around his form when you'd left camp that morning.

"Pretty funny coming from you," you said with a raised eyebrow back, referring to the incident with the ogre and bugbear that he'd incited by goading you into intruding on their privacy earlier that day. The incident that also lead to his crushed armor.

"Yes, yes," he murmured with an eyeroll. "Well don't just stand there, it's not like you need an invitation." You tried to hide your smile, unsure why he was so annoyed, but finding humor in being the one to annoy him for a change when he was so accustomed to being the one poking at your nerves since you'd met. He flopped his arms open and stared at you as you let the tent drape closed behind you, like he was exposing himself in an act of defeat. "I seem to be stuck."

You covered your mouth to snicker, remembering vividly the ogre woman grabbing him and tossing him around like a rag doll. He scowled back at you, his red eyes especially piercing when he was angry. You walked over and around him, examining his armor. The chest piece had been twisted around and folded over his ribs, concealing the straps that held him within. You paused, staring at the biting metal, wondering how the hells he was still breathing with it bound that tight to his chest. He hadn't once complained while you were exploring, so you had to assume it wasn't as bad as it looked. "Let me run and grab some tools, I'll be right back."

"I'll be here," he said, still unusually tight lipped and short. You took a quick second look over your shoulder at his face - it was odd, not seeing his usually suave face set into perpetual deviousness. He shrugged, the movement flowing down through his arms to overexaggerate his annoyance that you were still there. "Sorry, going," you said, walking quickly from his tent to the bins of miscellaneous tools around camp. You collected a hammer, chisel, and a crowbar from Karlach's tent while she was distracted - not that she'd care, but you had a feeling Astarion would appreciate a bit of discretion and Karlach didn't exactly have that quality. You paused, running to grab your bag as well incase you needed anything out of it.

You slunk back into his tent, smiling brightly with your armful of tools, when you noticed the expression on his face. His eyes were distant and wide, his jaw tight despite the slight parted scowl of his lips while one hand pulled at the neck of his armor. You softened yourself, his unease palpable. "I'll get this off you as quick as I can," you said gently shifting your demeanor, taking careful soft steps towards him. He looked away from you, his hands dropping to his waist but his fingers remained twitching at the edges of his armor. "Hold your arms up, I don't want to accidentally clip you."

He huffed but did as commanded. As you side stepped behind his shoulder, you carefully peeked at the profile of his face. The tight, withering control he was possessing over his own demeanor seemed to be slipping the longer he was bound within the malformed metal plating. His silver curls clung at his temples, beads of sweat forming there. You weren't sure what, but you could sense an intense discomfort now that you'd been oblivious to before.

"Okay, I'm going to start with the crowbar," you explained yourself as you wedged the wrought iron between the curled piece at his ribs. "Let me know if I'm hurting you."

"Respectfully," he said through gritted teeth, his voice straining against a false loftiness, "just do what you must to get this bloody thing off of me."

You nodded and leaned your weight against the crowbar. The metal groaned, but you knew the force it was taking to make the armor give was being leveraged against his ribs and back, likely creating more pressure and pain if that's what was distressing him in the first place. You peeked back at him, quickly releasing your weight to adjust the crowbar further up, trying to watch for any shift in his expression to indicate you were hurting him. You repeated, the gap now offering a narrow visual of the dark leather straps beneath. You lowered the crowbar, repeating the motion, but this time you heard a quick breath draw through his teeth in a hiss. You halted, pulling back to look at him. "I'm sorry," you whispered hastily, searching his face. "Are you -"

"Tav," he growled, his eyes snapping at you - they seemed wild and panicked, though the rest of his face was conveying a primal aggression that didn't match.

"Okay, alright." You stepped back once more to anchor the crowbar again. He was begging for urgency and you felt the need to comply. "Tell me to stop," you said, pushing against the crowbar with a much quicker, heavier force before he could yell at you for warning him. His fists clenched as the metal squealed. You lost your grip, slipping from the crowbar and tumbling past him. The rusted metal scrapped across your palms, gently drawing blood, but you didn't want to make this about you - he was clearly panicking for a reason you couldn't understand, but one you could empathize with. The claustrophobia, the panic of being stuck; you did understand that. "Almost got it," you grunted, replacing the crowbar lower, above where his hipbone was and regripped it tighter, the slight sting of your flesh lost to your focus. You pressed hard and fast, he flinched. You did it again, knowing just a few more pushes with enough force would give you the space you needed to reach in and unclip his armor, but as you braced yourself and pushed once more against the crowbar with all your might, just as you felt the tension release against the armor, he spun on you and gripped your wrists in a wild fury.

His eyes were wide, darting across your face as he pinned both of your arms against your chest, the crowbar slipping and dropping to the ground, forcing you back several steps against a beam in the middle of his tent, the entire thing shaking with impact. His breath was heaving through his exposed teeth. For the first time since he admitted to you that he was a vampire, you felt fear.

"Astarion, it's done, I can get it off now," you assured tentatively, searching his face for any recognition - you weren't sure what exactly you'd done, if it was your blood or the force of your movements or the being trapped, but something had left him distant and defensive. Something within him had snapped and you were the target of whatever was boiling in his heavy chest. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Just let me go and I can free you," you said softer, your own breath bound tight in your ribs, your heart thundering against your collarbones as you waited for him to either attack you or realize you were not a threat.

It was a moment. A long, painful moment that you weren't sure if he even knew who he was looking at - or if it mattered to him that it was you.

Then his brows twitched, his eyes blinked several times, and his face went carefully blank as he let you go, taking several steps back.

As he looked down, you discreetly released the fearful breath you'd been holding in your lungs. You slowly lowered your arms, adrenaline pounding so hard through your veins that your brain felt cradled in static. You pressed your hands against your thighs to hide the trembling as you slowly approached him once more. "I'm just going to unhook you now." You kept your voice even and soft, careful as you reached forward, but being sure to have your body facing him as you did. It made it difficult to see, but you thought maybe whatever you had trigged in his mind would feel better if he could see what you were doing.

You tried not to fumble the clasps, feeling just how jagged the metal had become from where it had been curled into his ribs. As you undid the final one, you paused and looked at him. He slowly brought his now guarded gaze to yours. "I'm going to reach around you, is that okay?"

His eyes searched your face quickly for a moment and he only gave you a slight nod, but it was enough for you to feel like you could get a little further into his personal space. You were chest to chest with him, slightly off to his side as you wrapped your hands around and gripped either side of his armor. It'd be easier if you'd had the chance to undo both sides, but you figured more crowbar work was out of the question. You gritted your own teeth, tucking your face into his chest as the metal bit into your hands, barely giving way to the force needed to unbind him. You took a deep breath and strained against it again, grunting as you focused every ounce of your own strength into his release. When it finally gave, you heard him suck in air as if he'd been suffocating the entire time. He pressed his arm past you, and you backed away quickly as he shed himself from the armor, letting it clunk to the ground.

For a moment, he closed his eyes, his chest fettering over quick breaths and mild control.

You saw it then, that he was bleeding. You took an instinctive step forward, reaching for him, but then paused, looking back up to see his face had completely transformed into what you knew it as - smug and satisfied.

"Ahh, thank you," he said, his smile and voice lofty once again. He stretched out his shoulders, his chest broadening as he did. "That was quite uncomfortable. Very well," he said, turning from you to busy himself with something else, "your services are no longer needed."

You felt your face heat up at his dismissal. There was a small part of you offended, the part of you that so desperately wanted to be needed at all times, but another part of you barked an order that again, this wasn't about you. "No," you said sharply, hoping the quiver in your voice wasn't noticeable.

He flicked his gaze over his shoulder at you, narrowing his brows in amused confusion. "What? Would you like another thank you? Too bad, I have a cap of one per week so no one gets in the habit of thinking I'm too generous."

"No, you're injured," you said, keeping your voice firm. He didn't get to treat you like that. He didn't get to act like you were a pest. You were going to help him whether he liked it or not. "Sit down and take your shirt off."

He balked at your forwardness, spinning towards you to size up your seriousness. "Darling, if you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask."

"I don't want to see you naked," you sighed. "I want to help you." He caught your gaze drop down to where it lingered on his ribs and only then did he seem to notice the gash in his blouse and still wet bloodstains around it.

"Oh, well I'll be damned," he chuckled.

You quickly wiped your palms on the back of your thighs, hoping any blood beading in your fists was dried now. You crouched over your bag, grabbing some medical wraps and an ointment you'd also found that day at the apothecary. You cradled the supplies in your arms and stood, realizing he had yet to remove his shirt. Or sit. Fine, you'd make do. With your free hand you reached towards his undershirt and tugged up, seeing the gash against his ribs that slipped down into the softness of his waist. You felt your face fall, "Astarion," you whispered, trailing your thumb gently on the edge of his puckered flesh, "why didn't you say anything?"

When you looked back up at him, he was staring at you, his face briefly unguarded. There was such softness there, for a tender moment, as he watched you take in his pain with empathy. You expected him to snap quickly back into a mask of arrogance, but he didn't. His mouth parted, searching your face before he could decide what to say. "Some atrocities are kinder than others," he simply said then, a melancholia on his tongue, "and those are ones I do not tend to notice."

You swallowed, your heart dropping right into your gut. You hadn't expected him to say anything at all like that.

"Hold up your shirt, please?" You asked softly then, trying to calm your rapid heart and not let your own emotions spill over where they likely weren't welcome. He did as you said without so much as a chuckle or dismissal. You placed the wraps under one arm as you spread ointment into your fingers, warming it between them before you began to gently, carefully, apply it to his wound. "This should help it heal. It smells just like what my mom would use when I was a kid. If. . . if I had a potion or something better, I'd give it to you." You furrowed your brows as you worked on his marred flesh. "Stupid," you chastised yourself. "I should have searched the damn goblins better. Maybe they would have had some."

Your fingers paused then, wondering if this ointment would do any good on vampire flesh.

"What?" He asked, his voice low and quiet.

"I. . . Shit," you murmured, shaking your head as you racked your brain for any better solution. "I don't know anything about vampires. I mean, you're my guide in that field and you don't exactly follow any of the lore I thought I knew," you mumbled, lowering just a bit at your knees to keep your eyes level with the intricacies of his wound. You were careful not to pull or push where his skin broke, just meticulously dabbing and coating the wound. "I'll learn though," you nodded as you spoke mostly to yourself.

The tent grew quiet, and your focus deepened. The others were much easier solves - you generally knew how to care for the average body. Besides Karlach. She was hard to hit, but now a new fear of how to help her if she ever needed you to was brewing in your mind. Maybe you could discuss it with Shadowheart. Surely between her healing spells and your medical knowledge, the two of you could come up with a plan to help her out before she'd need it.

"Are you always like this?" He asked, breaking your concentration.

You didn't look up, focusing on the thinning edge of his wound above his hip as you carefully pried the waist of his pants down. "Um, what do you mean?" You dabbled the last bit of ointment to his laceration and reached for the wraps. You carefully reached under his shirt to his diaphragm, holding one end of the wrap there as you began to weave it around his chest.

"Committed to those who don't give a shit about you?"

You froze, a painful, heavy dread dropping through your ribs and into your gut. You blinked, staring at his wound as your face flooded with embarrassment. "Yes," you answered honestly, pressing down the pain in your heart. You continued to wrap around him, praying the tears would keep from overwhelming your vision, though you could feel the sting in your eyes as you fought it. His voice hadn't been condescending or even really mean, but his words felt as though they had left a similar wound on your own skin. You then laughed pathetically, trying to over turn the stones building within you. "Some would call it compassion. My dad would call it pathetic; my mom would call it her job." You wrapped a few more rounds and tucked the bindings into themselves. "What would you call it?" You asked as you straightened upwards, forcing yourself to look at him though all you wanted to do was cower. You were done cowering. Fate had sentenced you to death, but also freedom, and if you were to inevitably die for that chance, you would not do it remembering yourself a coward.

"Unfamiliar," he answered.

The stones of loathing toppled as his answer resonated in you.

"Where did you go, when you were stuck in your armor?" You asked gently, watching him drop his shirt and tuck it back into his trousers. He looked down, face slightly turned towards you as he contemplated brushing you off again. When he didn't say anything, you grabbed your backpack and slung it over your shoulder, but you paused once more. You could hear your mothers' words in your mind.

Be open, do not hide a truth worth sharing. You never know who could benefit from courage like that, simple as it may seem.

"I get scared in closed spaces. It's why I sleep outside." His eyes flickered back to you, careful, but listening. "When I was ten or so, my sister and I went exploring." You chuckled but felt your lips twitch as they fought the pain that came with the memory being called to the front of your thoughts. "We loved to pretend to be adventurers. Pretend to be free. We found this cave, an old mining site not far from our house." Your heart was beginning to thunder once more, but this fear was different. Different than facing off with goblins. Different than being found worthless by someone you cared about. It was pure horror, rooted in shame so deep in your soul that for a moment, you weren't sure why you dared to go there.

But you continued, hoping your mother had been right. "We were having so much fun. Hearing the echo of our own voices." A shaky smile lifted your lips as you closed your eyes. You could still hear it, your laughter echoing back at you. "Until something happened. I don't know, even now, what caused it to collapse," you swallowed, opening your eyes and looking past him. You could still see all of it. Hear all of it. "She was only a few steps deeper in than I was and when I heard something else begin to echo, I started to run. I - I didn't stop to think she wouldn't be right behind me until all the light had disappeared and she wasn't. And we were trapped. I started to yell for her, barely able to find my way back through the rubble to where I thought we'd just been. When I found her, she was stuck beneath some boulders. Her hand was freed though," your voice dropped as you lost yourself to the memory, absently caressing the inside of your palm where you could still feel the weight of her gripping your hand in fear. "I could still hear her - she was alive. I held her hand and screamed. And screamed. Until she stopped moving. It was days," you finally blinked, looking up at him. "Days before the town managed to dig through and find me. She'd left her bow outside, afraid she'd lose it in the cavern."

Your jaw tightened and you laughed a little, reaching into your pocket and pulled it out. It was rough, stained, and tattered from age now, but you'd never been anywhere without it since that day. "It's the only reason they knew to look for us there." His face was blank, except for the slight wrinkle between his brows. You searched his face and felt your gut wretch again. "Gods, I'm sorry. That was supposed to help, I'm sure that very much didn't -" You turned to leave, feeling the cowardice overpower your will, but he grabbed your hand and stopped you and your babbling words.

You slowly turned back to him, but he wasn't looking at you, he was looking at your ribbon as his fingertips carefully brushed it in your palm.

"The last two centuries have been a nightmare," he first said, seeming to struggle to find a purpose for his words. You stilled yourself, as if you remained completely quiet and unmoving you wouldn't scare him. "I used to dream about the sun when Cazador would grow bored of me, chaining me to the dark until he felt like playing with me once again. I knew that it would kill me, but I also knew that it would set me free." The blankness of his face slowly transformed, his brows furrowing into anger. "I knew that in death, I would not starve. In death, I would not know pain. In death, for the first time in my life, I may know peace. He made me love the idea of death." He looked back at you, his anger clear but not directed at you at all. "The sun is my bow now. I will never again go back to cowering in the shadows. I will never know the underside of his boot on my face, his blade on my flesh, or his voice in my mind again. I will never bow to him again."

Your eyes grew wide - you were full of questions. He'd never said his name before, but you were sure he was referring to his master the way he sneered both words with the same abhorrence. Had he been a slave for the last two centuries? The idea sent goosebumps silently across your skin - like being trapped in that cave with nothing but your own misery for two centuries. You could see the weight of his words in his frown, in the darkness under his eyes and the hollowness within them.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, pressing the bow between his hand and yours as you closed around his lingering fingers, holding him.

His chest deflated as he looked down at your gesture.

He tipped your hand over, so that it was positioned beneath his as he unfolded his own, careful to make sure you didn't drop your bow before he laughed dryly. "I was not searching for sympathy."

His mask was back, as was the sting of his words as they were aimed at you, not to you. Meant to hurt, meant to make you angry or run.

It didn't hurt that much now though, because you finally understood. This man didn't hate you. He hated everything, for good reason. You smiled gently at him, tucking the ribbon back in your pocket. "That's the thing about sharing. It's not sympathy, it's empathy."

"If you think that is an ounce of the cruelty I suffered -"

"I don't," you quickly cut him off, your tone even despite his aggression. "I will never claim to know what you've gone through. I will claim to see you past it, maybe even through it if that's what you truly want. All I was saying is that I'm sorry we both know what it's like to be trapped." You offered him another smile and turned to leave, looking down at your hands as you carefully tried to grab the tent without smearing your blood onto it - and then it clicked. "Gods, I'm a fucking idiot," you laughed at yourself.

"What are you going on about now?" He asked, sounding just as annoyed as he was with you when you first entered the tent. You turned and narrowed your eyes at him, contemplating. Would it be weird? If you offered yourself to him? Would he take offense, like it was charity? You looked over his eyes once more, seeing that the darkness around them wasn't just a trick of the light or a saddened expression - it was from a lack of sustenance. You'd seen it many times before when you helped your mom take care of the needy around town while your father was off for weeks working to support your family. The malnourished, hungry kids that wondered the streets. Often giving them food could be enough to turn their health around entirely. You chuckled to yourself, wondering how long the spirit of your mother was likely screaming at you from the beyond to use your fucking eyes.

"Would. . ." You searched his entire face then, trying to gauge his openness. "You need blood," you settled for truth. People responded best to facts, even when they were angry about a diagnosis. "I have blood," you said, holding up your battered palms.

"What, you want me to lick your fingers clean?" He asked, raising an eyebrow but his face became far less hostile at the offer.

"I mean, better you than the ogres," you muttered with a cracked smile.

"Hmm. I agree, better me than the ogres," he murmured, his gaze dancing over something predatorial within his nature. "I would have to leverage that I have much higher standards than ogres do, though." He took a few careful steps forward, his eyes trailing you as he did. You didn't expect it, but it made your heart flutter. He reached for your hands and brought them to his nose, gently brushing it along your knuckles as he sniffed in your scent. "I will not kiss the metal shavings from your palms, but if your offer is open, I will kiss the blood from your neck." His eyes flashed to you, suddenly intoxicating.

"If that's what you'd prefer," you said, your voice far less sure than you felt.

"I would and I am willing to bet you will too," he purred, letting go of your wrists and stepping back enough to gesture to his bed roll.

"Don't tell me I have to take my shirt off," you tried to tease as you followed his silent instruction.

"Mm, that's optional. If you do not wish to stain that pretty blouse, than you may consider it."

"Astarion," you warned, which made him chuckle lightly, kneeling beside you where you sat.

"Do not worry. I am not here to steal your innocence, just your essence." He smiled, wrapping a cool hand around the back of your neck to cradle your head. At his touch, your heart began to sputter. His eyes drifted back to yours from your neck and he grinned, knowing. "Or do worry, I think it'll make your blood that much more enticing."

You opened your mouth, trepidation weaving into your thoughts. "You've done this before, right?"

"No, but I have been just dying for someone to offer. I even thought about going back and taking care of that Kagha you dislike so much."

You smiled a bit then, "Aw, that's kind of sweet."

"Darling," he purred, leaning his face close to yours, sweeping the breath from your lungs, "I will suck the life out of anyone you ask me to."

"Just not me, right?"

"Why would I do that? You disrobe me, dress my wounds, and share daring stories of your childhood trauma with me - why would I throw that away?"

He was teasing you, you had to force yourself to remember that, but the way he was looking at you was far more than you had bargained for. And you were far weaker than you believed yourself to be. "Okay, I trust you," you nodded, relaxing into his hand.

A chuckle rumbled low in his chest, his eyes dipping back down to your neck in his hand as he used his other to graze your exposed artery, gingerly pushing your hair out of the way. "Good."

He leaned down slowly, as if to savor the opportunity. You could feel the brush of his nose against you, the flush of breath and softness of his silken white locks as they nestled against your jaw. You felt his lips part, the sharpness of his teeth press against your skin, and a spike of panic drove through you as every instinct began to scream that you were a fucking lunatic -

And then he bit.

You gasped loudly, feeling as though ice had been shoved into your throat, so cold that it burned vibrant and fast like wine poured over a fire. And then it settled into something that coursed through you just behind the pain. Something like a lullaby. Your brain grew fuzzy and his grip in your hair tightened and all you could do was smile.

You were being useful. For once in your life, you were actually giving something that was wanted, needed.

Your gaze wondered, lazily looking over the inside of his tent. You felt you'd earned a little bit of a peek into his private life, being as though he was buried into your neck. There were several stacks of books, some covered in blood and dust from your travels, several bottles of mostly finished wines, and a collection of necklaces and rings hanging from little branches along the posts of his tent. Also, lots of pillows. You wondered how he'd managed to steal them without anyone noticing.

A peaceful sigh left your lips, your hands couldn't help but stray up to him, curling into the base of his hair as your eyes drifted closed. For a moment, you felt peace prey upon you. It was devious and deceitful, but gods you'd wished for that feeling for years. It chased away the demons riddling your memories and the fear of being found truly worthless.

He moaned against you, making your eyes flutter open.

"Astarion," you whispered, sweeping your fingertips around his temple and behind his ear. His teeth seemed to anchor deeper within you and you gasped again, gripping his shirt. Your heart suddenly began to race, the lullaby faltering to reality. He was a vampire, and one thing you knew to be true about them was that they needed blood to survive. You had that, but there's no way it could replenish itself fast enough for him to keep drinking it from you as he was. "Astarion," you repeated, gripping the hair at his temple and pulling slightly. You patted his unmarred ribs, your limbs feeling heavier each second that he suckled you.

The pain shifted as he quickly pulled away, leaning over you with frenzied eyes and blood at the corner of his lips. You smiled, your lids heavy. "Better." you whispered, reaching up to delicately brush one finger beneath his eye. There was a darkness around the edges of your vision, but you were sure that the bruising had disappeared beneath his fair lashes and that there may have even been a light flush to his pale cheeks.

"You are strange," he murmured, his eyes drinking in your face just as he had your blood.

You giggled, trying to roll your eyes. "I told you I'd learn. I'm a fast learner-er," you mumbled.

"That you are," he said softly as he began to fade out of view from you, the hand cradling your neck gently letting the weight of your powerless body pull you back against his bedding.

You weren't sure how long you'd been out, but you stirred as you felt the shift of a hand sliding beneath your shoulders, then another beneath your knees. You felt yourself suspended in the air and finally, his voice drifted through your consciousness. "As invigorating as that was, I need something a little more filling," he whispered into your temple as he carted you out of his tent. You tried to flutter your eyes open, his face blurring in your vision. You could see that dusk had fallen on your camp, silence aside from the gentle hum of crickets the only other thing that greeted your senses.

The heat of the campfire began to lick your cold skin as you felt yourself being lowered onto your bed roll. The freedom of the open air adding another layer of solace to your weary soul. His presence lingered and you shook your head, desperately trying to hold onto your consciousness for one last look at him. He was kneeled beside you, watching you. He ran his thumb along his puncture wounds on your neck, making your body jolt and your eyes widen. He smiled, pulling your hair over it to cover his mark.

"This is a gift, you know. I won't soon forget it."

You weren't quite sure if you'd imagined his low, smooth words, or the gentle brush of his cool knuckles across your cheek, but it gave you permission to slip into a blissful sleep with a smile on your face.