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They don’t sleep well anymore, not since Alfira. Really, it’s purposeful: they don’t want to hurt any of their comrades, no matter what their body thinks. Maybe their companions have decided to trust them again, enough not to watch their tent in shifts, but they don't trust themself. They’ve also set up a series of little trinkets around their bedroll--a tin mug here, an empty wine bottle there--in the hopes that they’ll jostle one enough to wake the others if they do go prowling.
It’s the mug that wakes them, clacking against their discarded breastplate. Their eyes open slowly, terrified that they’ll be looking at someone’s innards, but when they do wake properly, all they see is Astarion, a flash of dagger-sharp fangs.
“...shit.” He backs up, hands in the air, kicking one of the wine bottles into the fabric of Vadi’s tent. “No, no, it’s not what it looks like, I swear! I wasn’t going to hurt you!”
Vadi rubs sleep out of their eyes. They’re too bleary at first to catch his meaning, but then it registers: the marks they’ve noticed on his neck, the fact that he hardly seems to eat around the campfire. The way they caught him looking at them when they were coated in Alfira’s blood.
“Hmm.” They prop themself up against their elbows. It’s odd to see Astarion without composure, like he’s a different person. “Explains why you were acting so strange about that so-called monster hunter.”
“It’s not what you think! I’m not some monster.” Astarion’s eyes dart around the dark tent. He’s picked the wrong angle to back up; Vadi’s between him and the exit. “I feed on animals! Boars, deer, kobolds, whatever I can get. I’m just…too slow right now. Too weak.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“And get a stake to my ribs?” Astarion leans away from the fabric behind him, just slightly, a challenge. “I needed you to trust me. And you *can* trust me.”
Vadi sits up fully and rubs the sleep from their eyes. “I know I can. This doesn't change that."
Astarion blinks at them. “It doesn't?”
“Of course not.” Vadi smiles. “Out of everyone here, you thought the one who kills people in their sleep was going to be bothered? You are far from the strangest one in this camp, my friend.”
His breath shudders out. “Thank you.”
“Not the smartest choice of meals, though. Could've gone into a murder-fugue on you.”
Astarion blinks. “Oh. I…hmm. I suppose not. I…find it hard to think, when I'm too hungry.”
“Then come here.” Vadi beckons him with two fingers. “I believe you were in the middle of something?”
“I…” His pupils dilate, just a bit. “I only need a taste, I swear.”
“Oh, fuck that. Take as you like.” Vadi undoes the laces of their sleep shirt and adjusts it so their neck is easily accessible. Astarion looks like a startled rabbit. “I would prefer not to be dead in the morning, though, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Really?” Astarion smiles. It’s more genuine than they’ve ever seen his face, almost sweet. “I--of course. Not one drop more than I need.”
“Maybe a few drops more. I want you to have your fill.” Vadi crooks their fingers at him again, and this time, Astarion follows, obeys. He prowls over to them on hands and knees; they lean back instinctively, and being on the ground below him is…well.
Vadi would be lying if they weren’t getting *something* out of this.
“Comfortable?” Astarion's voice has a slight quaver to it, one they've never heard from him.
“If you are.” They tilt their head to the side, not immune to the catch in Astarion’s breath as the tendons of their neck stretch. “Whenever you’re ready, *darling*.”
He hesitates, so close to their skin they can feel him with the fine, barely-visible hair on their shoulders. They catch him at them with his nose all scrunched up, waiting for them to say *stop*. Waiting for them to take out a stake. After they don't protest and continue not to protest, his mouth finally touches their neck.
When his teeth sink into their jugular it is bliss.
The sharp pain quickly fades to a comfortable tingle as Astarion takes his first gulp and makes an utterly debauched noise into their skin. They hum back at him and, on an impulse, wind one protective hand into his ringlets, urging his head even closer. The numbness spreads as he drinks more, more, curling from their fingers up into their arms, coiling around their chest. They stroke his pale hair, breathing nice and slowly, as the chill seeps through their bones--as it reaches their heart.
Their eyes shut slowly. Their hand falls from his head.
And the next thing they know, they’re having a healing potion poured down their throat.
They sit bolt-upright with a strangled gasp. Astarion is jostled into their lap without ceremony. He puts a hand to their cheek and it’s shaking; his other one tosses the empty vial to the side. Vadi gags on the soapy taste and fumbles blindly for a waterskin.
“Are you alright?” Astarion puts his other hand on Vadi’s face, tugging at their eyelids like that’s going to help anyone with anything.
They try to say yes, because they are, they’re wonderful, actually, it feels like they're floating, their body has probably never felt this good and certainly hasn't in the time since the nautiloid, but it comes out as a woozy “ynhh?”
“Shh, shh.” Astarion picks up a bloodied rag--Vadi’s vaguely aware that it’s one of the nice towels they use when they get to wash up in the river--and presses it to their neck. “Just nod.”
Vadi nods, then lets their forehead loll forward onto his shoulder. “‘sfine.”
“Good. Good.” Astarion’s mouth is practically dripping with their blood and his lips are smeared where he obviously tried to lick it away for another taste. He’s beautiful. “One more potion should--”
Vadi grunts and grabs his hand before he can start forcing any more foul things down their throat. “Water.”
“Certainly.” He turns around, scanning the tent frantically. Vadi presses a hand to the small of his back; they feel their forearm shake with the exertion. “Open your mouth.”
They oblige, only to immediately choke on another mouthful of potion.
“Gleh.” They snatch the potion bottle from Astarion’s hand and toss it to the side, where it clinks against one of the plates they’ve been using to trap themself in their bedroll. “*Water*, Astarion.”
This time, he obliges, and Vadi drains the waterskin eagerly. Their head is starting to ache and they’re so dizzy it’s a wonder they don’t fall over, but for the first time they can remember (not that they can remember long), they don't have a single thought about how pretty Astarion would look dead on the ground.
“You know how nasty those things are.” They take the towel from Astarion and hold it to their own neck, a little gentler. He’d been pressing so hard they were likely to bruise. “A slap on the face would have done fine."
"Forgive me for wanting to be a bit more certain that I hadn't killed you."
“I'm alright, it's not like I--” Vadi is overtaken by a sudden strong vertigo and rocks their head back down into Astarion’s shoulder. “Almost alright, oof.”
After a moment, he puts a hand on the back of Vadi’s head. He’s warm now; it’s almost disappointing, after that decadent coolness. He smells of brandy and campfire smoke and some manner of unidentifiable flower. And blood. Delicious.
“Hells.” Vadi pulls themself upright again. Their head feels like it moves slower than the rest of their body. “Ow. I…probably should have stopped you a gulp or two sooner.”
“You…” Astarion sighs. “Not a lick of self-preservation. Bloody fool.”
“You’re welcome.” They pull the towel from their neck. It’s nearly drenched; they’ll need a replacement. “Full enough?”
“I have lived over two hundred years and never been so full.” Astarion soothes a hand over Vadi’s hair. “What about you? Better?”
“Mmh.” Their tongue feels thick and fuzzy between their teeth. “Need more water.”
“Shall I bring you some from the river?”
Vadi shakes their head and reaches for a bottle of wine. When they find one that’s still part-full, they uncork it and pour it down their throat, not bothering with a glass. “Blood on you.”
“Ah. Yes.” Astarion looks down and sighs. He's dripped their blood from the corners of his mouth onto his chin; new red speckles adorn his shirt's stupid ruffles. “I suppose this leaves little to the imagination.”
“Towels, on top of the trunk behind you. You'll owe me new ones.”
Astarion cleans off his face carefully. After a moment, Vadi takes the towel from him to mop a bit of their blood off his chin. They have the urge to lick it off him, see how they taste. “...thank you,” he says, finally.
“Not so much next time.”
Astarion’s eyes go wide. He clearly didn’t expect a *next time*. “...of course.”
Caught off guard like this, teeth stained red, he’s the prettiest thing they’ve ever seen. Vadi leans back against the side of their tent. The fabric strains against them. “I’m not going to tell anyone, you know. Hard enough to find people who’d stick with me through all…this. It’d be stupid to waste one.”
"How pragmatic." Astarion licks his lips, probably not even sure he’s doing it, then shifts off Vadi’s lap. They lean forward for a moment, chasing the comforting pressure. “Far be it from me to dissuade you, but…why?”
“Why’d you stick up for me when I killed Alfira?” When Astarion doesn’t answer, Vadi bumps their shoulder into his. It makes their head swim, but they don’t mind too much. The nauseous feeling is interesting. “...we need each other.”
It’s quiet, then, for a good while. The campfire crackles. Crickets sing. Karlach snores louder than a bellowing ox. Eventually, Astarion gets to his feet. “Let me bring you some water,” he says, and then he ducks out of the tent, waterskin in hand.
For a few seconds, it’s just calm.
“Astarion?” Gale’s voice rises from the center of camp. “What are you--is that *blood*?”
Vadi puts their hands over their face and groans.