AN: My thanks to Bettydice, who lets me yell about these two endlessly and, madwoman that she is, keeps encouraging me to yell more.

Very minor warnings for dissociation.


Here lies a she-sun, and a he-moon there;
She gives the best light to his sphere;
Or each is both, and all, and so
They unto one another nothing owe;
And yet they do, but are
So just and rich in that coin which they pay,
That neither would, nor needs forbear, nor stay;
Neither desires to be spared nor to spare.
—John Donne

"Gods damn me straight to the hells," Tav said, slinging a fist-sized stone as hard as she could towards the dark, silent lake. The distance travelled was unimpressive, but the water made a satisfying sploosh, and glittering droplets burst up in a perfect ring from the point of impact. She flung another rock. "The Absolute turn my brain into pudding. Devils take me for a godsdamned lemure if I ever try to do something so ferociously stupid ever again."

The third stone sailed a little farther, bounced off a boulder jutting up from the black water, and skittered off with a pathetic plop. The always-black skies of the shadowlands had grown even blacker with the fall of night, and the starless gloom of the curse pressed tight against her torch's feeble flame where she'd jammed it into the sand. Not five minutes' walk from their camp just outside Last Light—the peaked rooftops of the inn were still visible atop the nearby hill—but far enough for her to feel completely alone. She'd have gone even farther if she could.

"And a fat lot of good it did anyway," she said aloud, hefting another rock in her palm. "All that fuss. Saving a load of helpless tieflings from goblins only to send them trotting straight into certain death. Damned cultists. Damned grove. At least there they'd have died seeing sunlight."

Another splash, distant and hollow. She whirled to find her next rock, only to discover one being held out to her in a pale, open palm.

Astarion. Gods damn it.

He was watching her with a lifted brow, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. The golden light of her torch danced over one side of his face; the other gleamed faintly with the cool silver of Selûne's blessing. His hair shone in the moonlight like water. He was beautiful and she was angry and for once she didn't care at all what he thought of her behavior, and she snatched up the stone and threw it overhand towards the lake, as hard as she could.

Better. Much better. This one sailed like a kite for a remarkable distance before dropping into the water. The lake had grown still enough she thought its surface might shatter like glass, but instead the rock splashed straight through, a dozen ripples ricocheting back towards the shore. They diminished, then disappeared like all the rest. "What do you want?"

"Darling, must I want something to enjoy the pleasure of your company?"

"That's sort of the whole arrangement," Tav said without looking at him. The next rock she skipped sideways—more suitable to her talents, it seemed, as it bounced six times before sinking—and she scraped her hands over her face. "Besides, I'm neither pleasant nor company right now. If no one's dying back at camp, I'd just as soon talk another time. If it's all the same to you, of course."

"You know," Astarion continued, as if she hadn't spoken, "I can't help but feel you're taking this whole tiefling business rather personally."

"I don't know what gave you that idea."

"I think it was the moment Rolan shouted at you at the bar in front of everyone, and you looked like he'd driven a stake straight through your heart." She could almost imagine him examining his fingernails. "Metaphorically speaking."

"If he wants his siblings back so badly, he should go fetch them himself." She sent another rock skimming across the water. Five skips and a little end-over-end tumble. "Or better yet, he shouldn't have lost them in the first place."

Lost them because of her. Because she'd told them to stay and help. Because she'd stuck her nose in other people's business when she'd had no right and now they were paying for it with their lives.

"You'll hear no arguments from me, my dear. As you'll recall, I suggested we leave them from the start."

"Yes, yes, you were perfectly right and I was wrong. Come rub my nose in it a little more, I don't think I heard you well enough the first time." The lake grew abruptly blurred, her eyes stinging badly, and Tav clenched them shut until the impulse waned. "Loviatar's scourge, Astarion, if you came out here to make me appreciate how deeply I've fucked everything up, I assure you I'm already there."

There was a pause, and when she looked over, his face held a new expression in the torchlight. Something like regret, she thought, as if he'd gotten what he wanted and found it surprisingly unpalatable. "Not quite what I'd intended," he said at last, and the expression receded smoothly behind a more familiar confidence. "But given how suddenly you slinked off after dinner, it wasn't hard to guess you might be in need of some…distraction."

Yes. Distraction. That was exactly what she needed. Some way to feel useful when she'd very thoroughly proven herself the opposite. She loosened the laces of her shirt, tugged her collar away from her neck. "As good a time as any, I suppose. Don't come crying to me if it's bitter."

"Darling," Astarion said as if she were very stupid, but he came forward over the rocky beach and set his hands on her shoulders. The weight was cool through her shirt—grounding—and when he dropped his head and tucked his nose beneath her ear she felt the iron vise around her chest suddenly give way. She took a great breath, the first in an age, and closed her eyes.

But—no teeth. No bite, no blood. Astarion's mouth moved slowly up and down her neck in deliberate, almost leisurely kisses. He stopped here and there to nip at the skin, to suck at the crook of her throat, and his thumb began stroking slowly over her collarbone.

Tav shuddered. "I thought you were hungry."

"Always," he said, nosing up to her ear again. His voice dropped to that velvety purr that both annoyed and attracted. "In fact, I'd say my appetites tonight are enormous. And all for you, my dear."

"Back to these lines again?" Her fingers threaded through his white hair despite herself. His fangs dragged lightly down the side of her throat, and she shivered. "Gods. Just tell me what you want."

He hummed instead, a vibrating noise that rippled right down her spine, and her other hand came up to hold him against her. Selfish. So selfish, and she couldn't bring herself to stop, even as she let her eyes wander to the distant inn set on the hill above them. The scintillating dome surrounding Last Light glimmered, a tangible reminder of all the ways she'd failed to protect the people inside it. Somewhere in there was Alfira, lost in the memories of horror—and the little thief children petrified with fear for Mol—and Rolan, drowning in cheap wine and impotent rage—

The icy sting of his teeth in her neck tore her from her thoughts. She clenched his hair reflexively, then forced her grip to ease as the pain faded to the habitual throbbing numbness. "So much for bigger appetites."

"Consider it an apéritif," he said between swallows, his lips brushing over her neck. His thumb slid up her throat to press into her chin from below, lifting her face away from him. "If you're so intrigued by what I want, love, I'd appreciate your undivided attention when I have my hands on you."

She could feel him growing warmer against her by the second. His thumb still pushed against her chin; she let her head fall back even further. "As long as you get what you need, what does the rest matter? I'm satisfied with being useful for a few minutes. I hardly deserve anything else at this point, given the spectacular failures of my recent choices."

"Frankly, darling, I have very little interest in what you think you deserve."

Ah, there. The irritation, the impatience. The slightly too-hard pull at the blood seeping from her skin. She'd cracked through the eggshell of his facade, if only for a moment. "Such sweet nothings you always whisper in my ear, lover."

"And such nonsense you whisper in mine." He mouthed over the wounds he'd made, gave her neck one more scrape of his fangs, and straightened. He licked his lips and swallowed again. "Fortunately for us both, you have other charms."

"Name one," she said, more bitterly than she meant. His eyes flashed, but instead of answering, he kissed her.

A lovely kiss. Strong, assured, one hand curled around her jaw to hold her steady, the other firm at the small of her back. Exactly the kind of kiss she liked, which of course he knew very well after all this time, which of course he could give her easily, without any effort or thought. One of a thousand little adaptations to her preferences he'd made to keep her happy, sated, content.

Sharess's teeth. She didn't even know if he liked kissing her.

Astarion caught her lower lip with a sharp fang, just enough to draw a pinpoint bead of blood. She shuddered and pressed back into him, desperate for the relief, unable to claw her way out of the grasping, wretched cravenness. Yes. A distraction. Anything besides this—anything at all. Yes.

"No," she gasped, wrenching her head back. Astarion blinked at her, his lip still stained with her blood. His eyes had gone a little hazy—from lust or disinterest, she couldn't tell. The lake beside them had become a still, black mirror.

"No?"

"Not here," she clarified, and suffered watching his insulted shock transform into immense self-satisfaction. "I want walls, Astarion. A roof. A fucking bed, if you can get it. Though that one's a little more negotiable."

He kissed her again, and she let him. He kept his lips on hers as he spoke. "I know just the place."

"You would."

And he did, to her faint surprise, leading her up the little path that ran near their camp. The firepit, spied at a distance between tents, was burning low, only Karlach and Shadowheart still sitting up in watch. They continued up the path without stopping, farther than she'd explored herself, to a long-abandoned house set on the hill overlooking the lake. A shack, really, wooden walls dilapidated and warped and the roof partly caved in beneath overgrown, leafless trees. But there were walls. And a roof, and even a door. And enough privacy some wandering tiefling child looking over the edge of the hill wouldn't get an unwanted eyeful. And in the center before the fireplace—gods above—

"An actual bed," Tav said, setting her torch in an empty, rattling sconce. "You miracle worker."

"My dear, anything for you." He closed the door behind them without bothering with the rust-choked lock, and he began to light an array of candles spread throughout the room. Most were ancient, wicks crumbling into ash, the tops dusty and choked with decades of grime, but there were a few new candles scattered here and there she chose not to consider too carefully. "Thankfully, your standards are in the gutter, which requires rather less effort on my part."

"I aim to please." Even the ancient bedcovers had been shaken free of dust, and there were two pillows set against the headboard that looked far too fresh for a century of cursed stillness. Something seized around her heart like teeth, and she went instead to the window overlooking the lake.

Here, at least, the glass was shattered and missing, the wooden frame rotted to precarious splinters. She could see Last Light better from this vantage than the rocky beach, the inn standing proudly across the little finger of lake between them. If she squinted, she could make out one of Jaheira's Harpers patrolling the bridge, pausing midway to speak to another guard, then continuing again.

Isobel's dome was beautiful in the darkness. Silver as the moon, and shining, and so very, very thin...

Astarion's cool hands wrapped around her upper arms, slid slowly to her shoulders. She shut her eyes and leaned back against his chest. "I hope you're prepared for some sloppy, terrible sex."

"Darling, if I'm involved, the sex is never terrible." He drew the tie from her hair and gathered its length over one shoulder, baring the other side of her neck to him. "As for sloppy—well. I suppose that will depend very much on where you take us."

"With my recent history, maybe it's better if you take the lead."

His hand slid up her throat, his fingers wrapping loosely around her neck. She thought he might squeeze—found, to her surprise, that the idea brought more interest than worry—and then he shifted, turning her in his arms. He curled a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his.

This kiss was rougher, thank the gods. Her mouth opened immediately beneath his, and then it was tongues and teeth and her lips scraping over his fangs again and again. Every now and then she broke skin and tasted her own blood; the third time it happened he let out a fierce noise in the back of his throat and fisted a hand into her hair. Just enough to sting beautifully when she did it again on purpose, forcing his fingers to spasm.

Astarion broke away, panting entirely unnecessarily, though he left his hand in her hair. "Cheeky," he said, licking his lips with exaggerated flair. "Even if you're delicious—and believe me, you are—I'm not sure I should be encouraging such behavior."

"Why not?" Little sparks of pain through her lips with the words, but not much. Nothing at all, really. Compared to what had happened to the tieflings on the road—compared to what was almost certainly happening right now at Moonrise Towers—

"Eyes on me, darling," Astarion snapped. His grip in her hair had grown tight. Punishing. "Drift away again and I'll leave you cold and lonely."

"I'm here," she said, startled, but when she tossed her head he softened his grip, letting his fingers trail through the strands instead. "And anyway, you're always cold."

"Part of my appeal," Astarion said, and his voice had softened too. He kissed her again—gently—ran his hands down her back—gently there, too—and pulled her tight against his chest. The taste of blood was still faint between them, and one hand slipped beneath her shirt to splay over the small of her back.

She arched instinctively away from his chilly fingers, which had the effect of pressing her chest further against his. No hardship, really, as she liked the feel of him and liked it even better when he laughed, and she wrapped both arms around his neck and gave herself over to the embrace.

Yes. Gods, yes. Strip out the doubt, the worry, the fear—strip out the agony of knowing she'd led good people straight to slaughter.

Just this. Just Astarion's hand sliding around her waist, his thumb loosening the buckle of her belt as his other hand cupped her cheek; just the way his mouth moved against hers over and over, slow and purposeful, as if he could draw out the poison by willpower alone.

How selfish she was. Selfish enough to want his pleasure too; selfish enough to want her touch to affect him just as potently. She ran her fingers through his hair, along the lines of his ears to the very tips. He laughed into her mouth, though she felt him shiver, and she yanked free the hem of his own shirt, flattening her palms against his stomach.

"Astarion," she breathed, and he shivered again. "Do you like kissing me?"

"What a stupid question, even for you." He caught her lower lip between his teeth and tugged, fangs kept carefully from piercing. "As long as this worm lives in my head, no one can make me do a single thing I don't wish to."

Not quite an answer. "I like kissing you," she offered.

That maddening smirk. "That goes without saying, darling."

"Fine." She leaned back and lifted her arms as he slid his hands up her sides, freeing her of her shirt. Her breastband followed, both draped over the headboard of the bed rather than tossed to the floor. Even here, so considerate of her things, so carelessly careful. The brass had gone green with patina, but the metal still held a little life in the firelight from the hearth.

The smoke was clearing beautifully. He must have even checked the decrepit chimney. Gods damn it.

She pushed him down to the bed. He sat obediently on the edge as she stood between his knees, draped her arms over his shoulders, and returned to his mouth. How willing he always was. How patient. She'd had other lovers, of course, but they'd all been quick flashes in the length of her life, very few worth the effort and none at all interested in more than a few minutes in the shadows. Astarion made a point of her pleasure every time. She scarcely knew how to bear it.

Tav ran her thumbs down the sides of his throat, then along his broad shoulders. A dense sort of muscle, lithe and tight, fitting for the speed in battle she knew he possessed. He hummed against her—probably an act, but she liked the sound all the same—and she pulled his fastidious ruffles up over his head and threw them aside. Let him call her out for it if he liked.

But he didn't—of course he didn't. He stroked up her sides to her breasts instead, cupping them both in his hands, rolling the nipples between his warming fingers, then pulled her properly into his lap. He put his mouth to her throat where he'd bitten her and sucked gently, though he didn't bite again. Couldn't be much there—she clotted quickly as it was, and when he was careful afterwards the wounds closed quicker yet. She settled into his hold, her knees on either side of his hips, and began to rock slowly against him.

"Astarion, I've another stupid question."

"I'm hardly surprised."

He'd abandoned the punctured place and had begun to suck a meandering path up her neck towards her ear. A wonderful feeling—intoxicating. She could hear the dazed note in her own voice. "Do you like how I taste?"

"Compared to gnolls? Compared to goblins and kobolds and boar? Darling, you're a feast for the senses."

"Not in comparison. Just in general." She needed her mouth on him, gods. Anywhere. Anywhere she could reach. She turned her head and nipped the tip of his ear; his hand froze, then resumed its circling trail more shakily. "I'm not hunting for compliments. I want to know if what you need to drink even tastes good to you."

"Mm." He leaned his forehead against the side of her neck a moment, as if considering his answer, and then he pulled her away and kissed the slope of her breast. "Yes," he said, and kissed her again, a little lower. "In fact," he said, and again, lower still, "I'd say you taste divine." He took her nipple into his mouth.

Liar. She ran her hands up and down his scarred back, her fingertips tripping over the raised places. His tongue was hot, shocking contrast to the rest of him, and he knew how to use it to great effect. He'd been her best by far even in their initial encounter in the woods; now that he'd learned what she liked, he could drive her mad in minutes. Probably less, if he really tried.

And she could—what? She could bleed. She could stand at his back in battle and gut a goblin before it touched him. Hardly a feat of seductive prowess.

Tav shook her head roughly. Astarion made a low, encouraging noise and switched to her other nipple. His hand took up the abandoned duty, twisting, plucking, playing her body like the strings of a lute, adjusting each prick of pain with ruthless precision as she clutched his head and moaned. Focus. Astarion only. His soft white curls tickling over her collarbone, his palm dragging up and down her clenching stomach, her sides, warming with friction and her blood. The way she could feel him beginning to grow hard where she sat against him, still rolling her hips in a slow, irregular rhythm. The smell of him. The scent he always wore and the way it mixed with her sweat.

Drafty as the walls were, the room had begun to warm. She stood abruptly, and the noise he made as she pulled away—wounded, almost lost—shot straight through her like lightning. She couldn't shed her clothes quick enough; by the time she'd wrenched the belt loose and pulled off her trousers he was already reclined naked on the bed, one hand stroking himself leisurely, the other propped behind his head on the pillow. Every inch of him was perfect, glowing in the firelight, like marble dipped in gold. Even the muscles of his shoulder moved as fluidly as silk. It was enough to knock the air clean out of her chest.

And from the absolutely infuriating smirk on his face, he knew exactly what effect he'd had.

"I hate you," Tav said breathlessly as she crawled atop the bed and leaned over him. "I hate everything you are. When Sune was handing out unearthly beauty to mortals, you got in line twice. Damned cheat."

He laughed. A genuine sound, no artifice at all, and his scarlet eyes when he looked at her were bright and pleased. "With such high praise from you, love, how shall I ever remain this humble?"

"If you're humble, I'm a hobgoblin."

"Hm," he said, but she bit his lip, and he let it go. She continued her way down his jaw, his chest, the flexing muscles of his stomach, leaving little red marks in his white skin wherever the fancy took her. One of his hands had dropped to the back of her head as she lingered near his navel, an encouraging pressure; the other was still working his cock in steady pulls. She wanted to feel him, wanted to know—she dropped her hand and tangled her fingers with his, letting him set the tempo and direction as she squeezed.

He made an approving noise in the back of his throat, moaned again as she bit the jut of his hipbone and sucked at the mark. Just a little further—their joined hands still worked together on his cock, only inches away—just a second to catch her breath and then she could be useful, could do something right for once in her life, even if it was only in a place like this—

"I don't think so, darling," Astarion said, and before she could react he'd flipped them both on the bed.

Startled, Tav tried to sit up, but Astarion put one hand to the base of her throat and pressed her firmly back into the pillow. The smell of fresh lavender rose like a cloud. "Astarion, please. I—why not?"

"You can't be trusted." He came up over her, hands braced on either side of her head, and bared his teeth. "I won't have your mouth if I don't have the rest of you. Not tonight."

"Hypocrite," she said without acrimony, and she reached up and brushed a curl from his face. "You vanish every time we fuck, even if it's only for a few minutes. Part of the package, you said. Why do I have to be here if you aren't?"

His eyes darkened with something she couldn't name—something, she thought, even he would be hard-pressed to untangle—but after a moment, he leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. "Because I say so," he said petulantly, without pulling away. "You asked me what I wanted. That's it, darling."

"Well, if that's what you want," she murmured, and she threaded her fingers through his hair as he slid down her body and settled his head between her legs. Gods, his hair was soft. And he liked it when she tugged—at least, he made sounds as if he did—and his hands on the insides of her trembling thighs were cool and strong and steadying, and—

"Gods!" she yelped, and Astarion had to pull away to laugh into the crease of her thigh. "Don't laugh. Shit!"

"What a delight you are," Astarion said with almost no mockery at all, and then he set his mouth back to her with single-minded concentration, and anything else she might have said went up in smoke.

Tymora must have plucked her out alone from a sea of mortals. No other explanation for the divine fortune of experiencing Astarion's quick, wicked tongue, even in this drafty shack. His mouth still ran so hot—light touches, then the flat of his tongue in one long wet stripe—suction exactly when and where she wished it and a careful easing of the pressure the instant it threatened to overwhelm. His hands were firm on her thighs, his thumbs digging into the muscles each time she spasmed. Every now and then he moaned against her, sending tingling pleasure up her spine until she felt she might float off the bed entirely.

She was losing control of her own voice, gasps and hitching breaths escaping her with every motion he made. She knew he liked it when her careful silence failed—she even thought his enjoyment might be genuine. Not that it much mattered; he made a particularly deft, slow movement that seemed to drag out her very soul, and the groan that burst out of her skipped indecent altogether and leapt headfirst into obscene.

He laughed, a soft huff of breath, and she threw one arm over her eyes. Why not? Why bother hiding it? He knew what he did to her anyway, delighted in wrenching sounds out of her she hadn't the faintest idea she could make. Sometimes she thought he knew her body better than herself.

Should have trusted his instincts in the grove. Keep your head down. Leave well enough alone; it's not your business. Get your own before anyone else, because they won't leave anything for you. Lessons she thought she'd learned years ago. But Karlach and Wyll had been right there beside her, radiating goodness, and for them she'd wanted to—for the first time in decades, she'd wanted to make them—proud, she supposed. Wanted to make anyone proud. Wanted to face something difficult and try for the right thing for once, rather than the one that would keep her alive a little longer.

Karlach was kind, after all. Wyll, too. They wouldn't mind watching her back in a fight, even if she hadn't earned it first. Maybe she could extend the same offering to the tieflings. The same protection. The same way Peck and Juniper and the others had been hers back in Baldur's Gate, for a little while. You don't touch what's mine.

Rolan at the bar in Last Light, sneering at her, his face a mask of agony. Her fault. Her fault. Her—

A sharp, stinging pain rocketed up her side. Astarion had bitten her. Hard, right on the muscle inside her thigh. She let out a thin, shaky gasp, and he bit her again an inch or two higher, holding her gaze the entire time. His eyes blazed crimson in the firelight.

"Astarion," she said, shocked.

"I told you," he snapped. "Stay here, with me. I want you thinking of me and nothing else. I won't say it again."

"I said the sex would be sloppy." Her throat was traitorously tight.

"I'm not interested in excuses. Pay attention." He dropped his mouth to the wounds he'd made, still pinning her with his eyes, and began to drink. The pull was rhythmic, hard; she could see his throat working with each swallow, could see one of his hands had dropped between his legs and stroked to the same timing. The thick throbbing faded, supplanted by a numb, tingling pleasure. Stay here. Fuck.

The heat began to rise again despite herself, her hips beginning to work against him once more. His bite always stoked her arousal; even on that first night she'd been overwhelmed, delighted all the way up to the instant of her death. Now, watching him watch her, hearing the soft noises he made with each gulp, seeing the flush of warmth rise to his cheeks, his throat, his chest with every passing moment—thrilling beyond belief.

What a relief, to know she could give him this. Manifest proof that she could please him as much as he did her, even if the techniques were different. A selfish comfort—but that was fitting, too. Here, in this dilapidated, abandoned home on an overgrown hill in the middle of horrifically cursed shadowlands, she could be satisfied with knowing her lover found pleasure in her body.

Oh, gods. This was moving altogether too quickly. The heat was building in her core, twisting deliciously into something hot and heavy, and she wasn't ready, wasn't ready—as if he sensed it, Astarion abandoned her blood and moved back to his original position between her legs, and Tav nearly came off the bed.

No. She refused to be taken apart so easily, not yet. With a hand that shook like a leaf, she reached down and swiped blood from the inside of her thigh. Astarion watched her, mouth still, eyes black and hungry. Before she could begin to doubt, she dragged her fingers up her belly towards her navel to leave a scarlet stripe behind.

"Is that so?" Astarion breathed, and his voice was dark and amused and thick with lust. "Well! Far be it from me to decline such a polite request."

He pushed up with sinuous grace, swept his tongue along the stripe she'd made. Fine, then, if he was so willing to play—she put her fingers to her thigh again, then dabbed another narrow trail up between her breasts towards her collarbone. Astarion let her, his chin resting on her stomach, then slid up to follow.

His mouth made a heated path up her body, his tongue alternating between little pecks and broader sweeps. The hearthfire had taken to its new life well, golden flickers dancing over his strong, pale shoulders, casting the bed in a warm and intimate glow. Even the black curse which surrounded the shack seemed to have receded just for a few minutes, as if the fondness here had grown too strong to overcome.

He left the trail briefly, kissed one breast, then the other. Like fire where his hot, wet tongue touched her, ice-cold as air passed over the damp places left behind. By the time he reached the end of the red line at the hollow of her throat she was prepared, and with an inexplicably thudding heart she ran her longest finger over her lower lip. The pressure stung like little stars, the wounds from earlier making themselves known once more, but it was a comforting pain. Stay here.

Astarion leaned over her. His face was still, thoughtful, his brows faintly creased as he touched the corner of her mouth. His eyes grew suddenly soft, and then he bent down and kissed her.

A lovely kiss. Tender, warm. He sucked on her lower lip until the last trace of blood was gone, then sealed his mouth properly over hers. She arched up into him, desperate all at once to feel him completely, and hooked one leg around his waist.

"Please," she said, voice trembling, and shut her eyes. "I'm so close, but I want to have you—please."

"Darling," Astarion murmured, and there was warmth there, too. He slid a palm up her unbloodied thigh, slipped his fingers inwards, and guided himself to meet her.

The stretch was delicious—as with all the rest of him, Astarion's cock was beautiful—and Tav blew out a long, hitching breath. His face dropped to her shoulder; she ran her hands up his back, digging into the muscles there as he began to move, as she began to move to meet him.

Long strokes, slow and very deep, every sensation magnified a dozen times by his recent feed. She felt electric and as thick and sweet as molasses at the same time. His eyes were screwed shut; he had stopped breathing against her, which he only did when he forgot himself, and she hoped that meant—hoped—

Tav ran her shaking fingers through the softness of his hair. "When I'm with you," she breathed into his ear, "I feel practically alive."

Astarion went still mid-thrust. He pulled away enough to look her in the eyes, and then he gave a startled, genuine bark of laughter, and Tav threw back her head and came.

A glorious drowning, as always. She gasped for air, voice drawing high on every inhale, her fingers clenched into his shoulders. Astarion bit her throat again and pushed her into a second wave before the first had waned. She thought she was writhing, but he steadied her through it, and in a matter of moments the pleasurable lethargy of his bite swept her up like ballast and carried her away.

Tav gave herself up to the floating sea. Astarion had a tight hold on her, after all; he'd make sure she came back safely in the end. Here it all grew so simple. His lips on her throat, his cock still thrusting shallowly inside her, one hand curled around her jaw like she mattered. Like he'd found something worth protecting. A fantasy, certainly, but she was drunk on pleasure and fantasy was only the other side of the coin. No harm in indulging in daydreams for a little while. They were precious enough as it was, and even more so in the depths of these shadow-cursed lands. No harm at all.

Somewhere in the delicious daze, she felt Astarion finish. A shame, that—she thought his pleasure had been real tonight, and she liked seeing his face without the artifice—but she could be satisfied with holding his rigid form as tightly as she could, stroking up and down the back of his head, his neck, the length of his sensitive ears, until his trembling eased and his locked elbows began to loosen.

He came down eventually, just as she did, though the softness remained. His weight settled atop her chest—he was heavy, but not enough she wanted him to move—and he buried his face in the crook of her neck. The faintest brush of his lips against his fresh bite made her shiver, but the bleeding would stop soon enough. She ran her fingertips lightly along his back and turned her cheek against his.

His generosity tonight had been novel enough. This—lingering afterwards, as if he wanted, somehow, to stay—well. Far from her to complain.

She didn't know how long they lay there. Long enough the fire crackled and popped and a log collapsed in a rush of sparks and heat. Long enough her torch by the door began to sputter as its oil ran low. It didn't seem to matter. Astarion seemed perfectly content to let her trace out his scars forever, and she found to her own surprise she had no objections either. The curse had waited a hundred years; it could wait a few hours more.

"Thank you," she said eventually, when she felt a little less like a glass vase ready to shatter. "For the distraction. You were right."

"Mm," he said, almost sleepily, but he pushed up to one elbow—she was surprised at how much she mourned the loss—and looked down at her. "Darling, I'm always right. That you haven't come to accept this yet is one of the great tragedies between us."

"I'm sure we'll manage a few more before this is through." She reached up to cup his face, but he caught her wrist before she could touch him. Blood on her first two fingers still, she realized, not quite yet dried. Astarion closed his eyes and slid her fingers into his mouth.

"Gods," Tav said softly, and nearly came again, but the day had been too long and her heart was still too sore, and the most she could manage was a wonderful flip of her stomach. Astarion's tongue glided over her knuckles, her nails, between her fingers to the join. It was slow and purposeful and oddly sweet, and when at last he slipped her hand free and opened his eyes again she was somehow unsurprised to find there only a faint shimmer of lust. She licked suddenly-dry lips. "You're magnificent, you know. The world doesn't deserve you."

"I'm quite aware," he said, and this time when she put her palm to his cheek he let her. "I suppose you're feeling better?"

"I always do when you're around."

"Now who's trotting out old, tired lines? Take any of mine you like—it's not like you know how to use them." His lip curled. "Thief."

"Always." She leaned up to kiss away the derision.

They rose eventually, dressed again, and re-lit the sputtering torch from the dying fire. The candles had burned low, even his newer additions, and as Tav blew out the last one beside the bed a bit of wax spattered over the rumpled covers. "Damn," she said, and did her best to pick the wax free as it hardened.

Astarion scoffed from the doorway. "Please, darling, don't bother. Not for this rotten place."

"I suddenly have very fond memories of this place."

"A little carnal pleasure to pull you out of your own empty head. You needn't overthink it."

"Call it what you like. I know kindness when I see it." Good as it would get. Tav looked up to find Astarion watching her, brow furrowed. "What?"

He blinked, then waved a dismissive hand as she came to join him. "No use quibbling over semantics. Let's return before someone sends out a search party and Gale falls in the lake."

Tav shook her head. An immense fondness for Astarion swelled in her chest all at once, steady and overwhelming as a summer tide. How generous he'd been here tonight, even if he refused to admit it. More than a distraction—more than a quick fuck. He'd been worried about her. He'd brought her out of herself the only way he knew how, and he'd gone to a great deal of effort to do it. The bedclothes, the candles—all of it. How gentle. How kind. She smiled up at him, grateful and glad to be so.

Stay here with me.

He'd stayed this time, for her.

Astarion held her gaze for a long moment. He looked—startled, she thought, and a bit alarmed, but eventually he lifted a hesitant hand and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Well," he said slowly, and his hand dropped back to his side. "So long as it helped."

"Yes," Tav said warmly, and then she took up the torch and went with him back towards the camp path. Her thigh ached with a fury, and the side of her neck gave a dull throb with every step, but somehow it was a pleasant pain. One she didn't mind enduring.

The walk was quiet, the moonlit night gone still. No birds, of course, but the curse seemed yet willing to keep its distance. The torchlight—a little brighter than it had been, maybe. Selûne's silver blessing a little more lovely. Every now and again they walked a pace or two closer to each other; every now and then their fingers met in glancing touches. She felt fragile and dangerously invulnerable all at once.

Perhaps the grief could be overcome after all. Perhaps, Tav thought with a faint, wondering surprise, a crack might have begun to grow within it, like a young rootling picking its way through ancient stone, reaching up towards the sun.

end.


AN: I'm awash in ideas for these two and am currently trying to decide what to write next. Vote on my tumblr (loquaciousquark, poll post dated 1/8/24) if you like.