Major Act 3 spoilers from here on out, folks.

They both blurted out, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Oh … uh –" Astarion began.

"No, that's –" Tav dropped Their hands away from his face.

He felt instantly cold. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

"You can go first if …" Tav gestured clumsily.

Astarion cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck.

Tav shuffled Their feet.

Astarion motioned to Tav's stool. "Please, sit. We need to talk."

Wordlessly, Tav settled Themself on the low stool. The look on Their face, that steeling-oneself-for-bad-news look, went straight through Astarion's gut. Gods, They really thought there was a possibility Astarion would reject Them.

He knelt before Tav, placing himself between Their knees and his arms around Their hips.

Tav's grim expression lightened into surprise.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you what you mean to me," Astarion said in a rush. "I've said it so many times, to so many people, when it was a lie. Now the words feel tainted. Polluted, somehow. Like saying it out loud would mean it wasn't real."

Tav's hands came back up to frame his face, making the breath hitch in his throat. He had to concentrate with his eyes closed to get its rhythm back in line with what people expected from a living creature. Tav's thumbs stroking across his cheekbones made that harder, but he wouldn't have stopped Them for all the blood in Faerûn.

At last he opened his eyes to see Tav smiling down at him.

Astarion linked his fingers together over the small of Their back. "I want this to be real," he said, willing his voice to be steady, and partly succeeding. "I want 'us' to be real. And I want to tell you … all the pieces that remain of Astarion Ancunín love you desperately." Only one corner of his mouth cooperated when he tried to smile. "Emphasis on 'desperately'."

Tav's elated grin lit up the tent more than the Blood of Lathander had done.

"I love you, too, Astarion."

Again, he experienced breathing issues.

Losing time wasn't an infrequent occurrence for him. It usually happened during something unpleasant, but on occasion his consciousness just switched off for no apparent reason. Most of those times he "came to" curled up behind a stack of crates with a scrap of cloth pulled over his head. This time, he woke to find himself still seated on the floor of the tent, his arms looped around Tav's waist and his cheek resting on Their thigh.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the Radiant energy had warmed him again. Tav was stroking his hair with one hand while the other smoothed over his back in a hypnotic pattern.

In a voice that was oddly slurred, he said, "This isn't quite how I pictured myself between your legs."

Tav's amused chuckle vibrated through Their stomach and into him.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the touch of Their fingers in his curls, and his head resting comfortably in the same spot from which Tav had told Gale to remove his hand.

Astarion tightened his arms around Tav's hips and felt the thrum of blood under his cheek, rushing up the artery to Their groin.

That bodily reaction was important. It was important that the position of Person Tav Wants to Have Sex With was taken by Astarion, and only Astarion.

He was familiar with the intricacies of male and female bodies; the nerve clusters were similar across both sexes, albeit in slightly different arrangements. No matter how unique Tav's body was, surely They still had the same basic nervous system as any humanoid. Astarion could find those nerves – and stimulate them – until Tav could think of nothing else. He could make Them crave being with him again and again, like a drug.

One of his recent targets, a Traveler's Dust addict, had explained to him the effect he had on people. She said that his face and body brought her as much pleasure as the Dust, but without the unpleasant side effects. The blood-red sclera of the gnome's eyes had faded somewhat over the course of his seduction, and she had claimed to need significantly less of the drug during those weeks. She'd said he was "all the chemical stimulation I need", and she had used him to satisfy her cravings with no more care than she took for the Dust in her stash.

He'd felt less guilty than usual about handing that one over to Cazador.

'I can do this,' he told himself. 'I know I can. Tav would never use me like that woman. This won't even hurt.'

When he lifted his head, Tav said in a cheeky voice, "While you're down there …"

'Here it comes,' he thought, and pushed away the inconvenient feeling of disappointment. He bit his lips, making them as pink and appealing as his spawn body would allow, before looking up.

They were holding a slender paintbrush.

Astarion lifted his eyebrows. "Are we playing dress-up? Don't tell me you have a thing for clowns."

Tav laughed softly. "No clown kink, I promise. Just getting ready for the day. I assume you don't want to traipse around Rivington looking white as a sheet. Your lack of color is a dead giveaway."

"An undead giveaway," he corrected, winning himself another laugh.

Tav tapped the case of face paints on the table. "I got these yesterday from Zara at the Circus of the Last Days. Good thing, too, because I was almost out of black." They wiggled the brush. "May I?"

"Certainly, my love."

Astarion tamped down the shaky, fluttering feeling in his chest at the realization that calling Tav "my love" wasn't flattery or wishful thinking anymore; it was a fact. Even if it was simply a passing fancy on Their end, They'd said it, nonetheless. Tav wasn't the type to take a different lover immediately after telling someone that They loved them.

He sat patiently before Tav, memorizing the lines and curves of Their face as They tended to his appearance, supporting his chin with Their other hand. They deftly applied pinks and mauves and smokey grays to his features, dabbing his cheeks and lips, stroking his eyelids with the bristles as gently as if he were made of rice paper.

Astarion had to wonder: was this what it was like to be seduced? Was a dubious confession of love and a few kind touches from someone with beautiful eyes all that it took? It would certainly explain why more than a thousand people had followed him to their deaths, if he'd inspired in them the same sense of breathless longing, the near-obsession, the ache that was made both better and worse by being so close to Tav.

'Poor bastards,' he thought. And then, 'Poor me, when Tav outgrows Their infatuation.' Which would happen all the sooner, if he wasn't giving Them physical pleasure on a nightly basis. It was too late this morning – outside he could hear Karlach's braying laugh, Halsin humming tunelessly, Arabella peppering Withers with questions – but he'd have another chance this evening. Yes, tonight it would be time to pull out all the stops.

But for now … for now he had this. This perfect moment with the only person he'd ever truly cared for.

Tav slowed when it came to lining his eyes with a smaller brush, Their gaze becoming pensive and tense.

"What?" he asked, so quietly that the question was almost soundless.

Tav ran a slender finger along the arch of bone housing his artificial eye. "Volo's lucky he left camp before I got back from Waukeen's Rest." Their jaw muscles flexed. "I have the restraint of a monk, not a saint."

"I appreciate the sentiment, dear, but of all the eye extractions I've been through, getting a replacement that reveals invisible enemies – rather than just a regrown version of what I had before – is a definite improvement."

Tav's own eyes flared. They repeated, " 'Of all the eye extr–'?" They looked up sharply, as if They could see through the tent and all the way into Cazador's palace. The brush snapped in Their suddenly-closed fist.

"I'll kill him for this," Tav hissed, and Their eyes began to glow white-hot. A rising hum vibrated through each point of contact with Astarion.

He ran soothing hands up and down Their biceps. "I do love it when you get all murder-y on my behalf, but don't forget I have first dibs."

Tav looked down at him, Their ki still thrumming wildly.

"You can have a go at him if I'm incapacitated in some way," Astarion conceded, "but I must insist on making the killing blow. They are my eyes he plucked out, after all."

Plucked out, burned out, and gouged out for the crimes of "sneering at me", "having a sullen look about you", and most recently: "making that face".

Tav's exquisite sea-green eye color returned as They took a deep breath to calm Themself.

After centuries with volatile, impulsive, unpredictable housemates, Astarion found that he hungered for Tav's aura of calm. Their ability to sculpt Their own emotions into the shape They wanted was … comforting. Perhaps, when all this was over, They could teach him that kind of self-control.

Funny how somewhere along this objectively-desperate journey, Astarion had started making plans for "after".

Tav selected a new brush. "Would you like me to finish, or would you rather do it yourself?"

"I trust you completely, Tav." A shiver ran down his spine as he realized how true the statement was. That kind of blind trust was dangerous, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. Tav had the power to crush him with more than Their fists, and They didn't even know it.

He plucked the little brush out of Their hand as soon as They were done and rotated the paints so he could reach them.

"And you, my treasure? What do you want? Dark and dramatic as always, or something experimental?"

"Dark and dramatic, please. It helps with intimidation, and if we're looking around Rivington for your siblings, we'll be doing a lot of interrogating."

"Oh, truly? Is that why your usual look is so bold?"

Tav nodded as he loaded the narrow brush with paint. "The contrast makes a monk's glowing eyes really stand out when they're channeling large amounts of ki. A teacher of mine always said, 'Why fight, when you can make your opponent run away?' "

"They sound very wise."

Tav made a small, pleased sound, and at his instruction They looked up so he could underline Their eyes. He took care to make Their upper eyelids extra smokey; glowing eyes surrounded by deep black would work particularly well if the party ran into Dalyria or Yousen today.

"You're not angry with me, then?" Tav asked while he swiped the brushes against the cleaning cloth.

"Angry? About what?"

"Not telling you that you have ki." His beloved monk actually looked worried. This gorgeous, unstoppable, heavenly creature – who could have anything and anyone They wanted – was sitting here in a patched-together tent in an abandoned field, fussing over the tender feelings of a lowly spawn who'd pulled a knife on Them at first meeting.

Gods, he adored Them.

"Darling, I'm still a bit fuzzy on what ki is, much less going to be angry that you didn't know how to explain it to me." He kept cleaning.

"The theory, for thousands and thousands of years, has been that ki is generated by living things. The fact that you still have yours turns all of that on its head."

Astarion closed the lid on the face paints, not making eye contact.

"It will … take some time to comprehend, my dear. You say you can hear my ki, but I've never felt such a thing."

"I can teach you this evening. If you're willing."

He did look at Them then. Tav seemed so happy for him, so eager to teach. How could he say no?

"All right, love. Tonight."

Tav grinned. "Tonight." Their gaze landed on the tin mug. "Is that the Turmishan tea?"

"Yes, that's for you, courtesy of our favorite cleric."

"Is it any good?" Tav picked it up, Their brow wrinkling momentarily at the odd shape of the bent drinkware.

"As I told Shadowheart, I can't taste much of the food or drink I consume before it disintegrates. 'Curse of the Vampyr', and all that." He flapped his hand to wave away the inconveniences of being undead.

Tav's head tilted in curiosity. "Can you smell food?"

"A bit. The aromas seem to disappear as soon as they touch my tongue." He stroked his chin in thought. "But when they're floating on the air, yes."

"Hmm," said Tav.

"Hmm?" he asked.

"I have an idea." Tav made a fluid movement with Their free hand, and a thin layer of dancing water droplets engulfed it, like the spray coming off a waterfall. The hand cupping the mug flared brightly with orange flames. Astarion recognized Harmony of Fire and Water from Tav replenishing Themself between battles.

The tea within the mug began to steam. Keeping Their eyes on him, Tav took a large sip and held it on Their tongue. The fire and water died away, and Tav cupped the back of his head with Their free hand, the fingers still a bit chilly from the water.

Once again, Astarion forgot to breathe. Tav swallowed slowly as Their mouth drew near his. He made his own lips part in preparation, and his hands crumpled the fabric of Tav's trousers in his fists.

Instead of kissing him, Tav exhaled gently onto his face. Their warm breath, heavily laden with fragrant spices, flowed into his mouth and nostrils like curling tendrils of fog. For the first time in centuries, he tasted honey, vanilla, cinnamon, anise and hawthorn, flowing across the roof of his mouth as if he'd drunk the tea himself.

Astarion clutched at Their shoulders so he wouldn't crumple into a boneless heap on the floor. Tav's supporting hand was all that kept his head from lolling back.

With Their breath still winding its way in and out of his lungs, Astarion whispered, "No one's ever done that for me before."

Tav's face glowed with simple pleasure. "Good. I'm looking forward to all the 'firsts' we'll have together."

Astarion might have blushed if he didn't have a vampiric being's almost-nonexistent blood pressure. "As am I, darling." He stood and swiftly placed himself behind Them, not quite ready for Them to peer so deeply into his soul. "How many people have done your hair for you, I wonder?"

Tav tipped Their head back to blink up at him. "None I can recall, save my parents when I was little."

He hummed happily and began combing through Their silky hair with his fingers. "Two braids along the right side?"

Tav grinned again. "Yes, please."

His fingers didn't tremble so much once they had something to do.

"While we're dressing each other … do you have an armor preference?"

"For you, you mean?"

"No, sweetness, for the dog."

Tav chuckled instead of taking offense. "Well … there is one that's just got a little more 'something' when you wear it."

"Oh, does it now? Allow me to guess … The Graceful Cloth." Karlach always stared extra hard at Tav's exposed waist when They wore that set, as if the only thing that kept her from putting her fingers there was the possibility that she could burn Their skin.

Tav's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Nope."

"Hmmm … the githyanki Psionic Ward Armor."

"Uh-uh." They took another sip of tea.

"Really? It's very elegant, and rewards observant onlookers with a peek at one's derriere."

"That's true, but still not the one I'm thinking of."

"The Spidersilk."

"No."

"Elven Chain."

"Sorry." They handed him a bit of string to tie off the braid he'd just finished.

"Bloodguzzler Garb?" That one also showed a significant amount of bare stomach.

"Wrong again."

"All right, you've got me stumped. Which is it?"

Tav bit Their lip and smiled. "Dark Justiciar Half-Plate."

His eyebrows shot up. "You have a thing for Shar worshippers? Shadowheart will be disappointed that she switched allegiances."

Tav shook Their head. "I have a thing for you, especially in that style and color scheme. It does nothing for me when someone else wears it." Their smile was soft instead of lustful. "You look divine in that silver, gold and soft black."

Astarion liked the Sharran half-plate too, but for entirely different reasons: the wickedly curving shoulder pieces kept people at a distance, and the neck cowl concealed Cazador's fang marks. And he did look damn good in it.

"I shall endeavor to wear it more, my dear."

"And for me? Do you have a favorite?"

"Oh, I …" He hadn't considered asking Tav to wear something in particular. "Well … The Graceful Cloth is a crowd favorite, as you may have noticed."

Tav made a non-commital noise.

"But I must say, the Garb of the Land and Sky that you got from Danthelon yesterday was quite something."

"Oh, really? It's a bit fancy for monastic clothing."

"Darling, if you had your way, you'd still be wearing that ghastly yellow rag you fell off the nautiloid in."

Tav chuckled into Their nearly-empty mug. "I did tell you Sun Souls prefer poverty."

"Yes, but you must be practical; we need every edge if we're going to survive this debacle, and your original robes have no special advantages." He tied off the second braid, smoothing his hand across both rows of intertwining hair, and impulsively laid a quick kiss on Their temple before stepping away. As if nothing special had happened, he continued, "Land and Sky will let you hit even harder. In the event that your daring eye makeup doesn't scare off the baddies, I'd prefer we strike so hard and fast that they don't have a chance to fight back."

"You think we'll have to fight your siblings?"

"It may be necessary. They don't have tadpoles, as far as I know, and therefore cannot resist Cazador's compulsion. If he tells them to attack us, they have no choice."

Tav stared into Their empty mug.

"Darling, look at me." He knelt again.

His monk's face was troubled when They met his eyes.

He had to make Them understand. "If it helps: Cazador made sure there is no love lost between us."

"What do you mean?"

"When any of us began to develop a friendship, particularly a romantic attachment to another spawn, he made us torture each other."

Tav was speechless.

Astarion continued, "Violet went insane after what Cazador made her do to Petras, when he discovered they'd been taking comfort in each other. For the better part of a decade she was useless for hunting. He was more … careful … with his punishments after that." His hands ached, and he looked down to find they were balled into white-knuckled fists. "If they bring me back to Cazador, he'll have them do so much worse to me than merely plucking out my eyes." The next words stuck in his throat twice. "Don't let them get me, Tav."

The monk enveloped him in a tight embrace. Astarion's own arms around Their chest were probably tight enough to make Their ribs creak in protest, but They didn't complain.

"Never," They said against his hair at last. "You'll never be at their mercy again."

Astarion didn't respond, only tucked his face against Their shoulder.

All in a single morning, he'd gotten his overpowered protector to reject his rival's advances, declare Their love for him, and take one step closer to letting him sacrifice the other spawn so he could ascend in Cazador's place.

Why, then, did it feel like he'd just lost something precious?