"You're wet."
She's midway through pulling off her shirt when he barges into her tent. Siobhan flinches at the sound of his voice before turning to face him. Her copper skin is ashen, her lips dry and cracked, eyes rimmed with red. She grabs the first clean garment her hand lands on—the one Astarion had mended. Astarion's jaw clenches when Siobhan hesitates for a moment before putting it on.
"Is that a question?"
"So is Gale," Astarion almost spits.
Upon their return, Siobhan and the wizard hurried back to their respective areas—avoiding the curious glances coming from their companions. Gale blushing like a schoolboy while Siobhan hid her face behind a curtain of wet hair. Astarion felt his insides turn to ice as he watched them—fear constricting his lungs. What had they been doing together? Why had they both felt the need to bathe after? Surely, he hadn't managed to bed her? Astarion can't believe the wizard had been able to succeed where he failed.
"What's your point?" The loose collar of the shirt does nothing to hide the purple bruise on her throat from his bite. Neither had the shirt she just changed out of. Astarion now thinks she's done it on purpose after their conversation that morning. He'd been glared at all day by the others once they'd seen the state of her. Is he being punished? He thought everything had been squared away last night.
"Don't tell me— you and the wizard?" He has to ask. Astarion knows he's fallen slightly out of her favor, but surely not so far as to be discarded and replaced.
"I don't see how that's any concern of yours, Astarion." She can't meet his eyes. Unease coils in the pit of his stomach.
How should he play this? Possessive? No, Siobhan won't appreciate being fought over like two children over a plaything. Betrayed? Astarion doesn't see how he could. They'd never agreed to eschew other partners. It hadn't ever gotten that far. This thing between them is still only in its infancy. Jealous?
Hmm. Perhaps. She does enjoy being the object of someone's affection. Astarion's neglect must rankle more than he previously thought. Gods, is her ego fragile. He's only been distant for a little over a week and already she's jumping into the bed of another man.
"Is this the end of our late-night trysts, then?" He doesn't have to dig too deep to inject a bit of hurt into his voice. It's hard to know he's so easily cast aside. "Now that you have Gale, I imagine you won't have much use for me."
Siobhan blinks at him. "Excuse me?"
Astarion babbles on as if she hadn't spoken, equal parts bitter and teasing. "Good for you! It's about time you let yourself have some fun. I thought it would never happen. I'll admit, I didn't know he had it in him, but Gale must be a consummate lover after his time with Mystra. Tell me, was it everything you imagined it would be?"
He smirks when she doesn't respond. "Perhaps I should give him a go as well—"
Siobhan slaps him before he can finish; the sound of her palm striking his cheek fills the tent with an almighty crack. Astarion touches his face in shock as heat blooms under his fingers in the shape of Siobhan's hand.
"Get out." She's shaking with rage, tears streaming down her face in uninterrupted lines. Astarion feels like he might be sick.
"Siobhan—"
"Get. Out." She tries to shove him out of the tent but he holds his ground, wrapping his hands around her wrists.
"Wait, I'm sorry." Whatever aversion he had to apologizing before has completely evaporated. He realizes that waiting this long was a severe miscalculation.
"No, you're not. Let go." Siobhan struggles against his grip but she's still weak from blood loss, her breath coming in short gasps.
"I'm sorry. Please. I am sorry." Astarion doesn't let go of her wrists when she tries to pull away. Sick with desperation.
"Let me go or I'll scream!"
Astarion releases her instantly and she flees from the tent. He chases after her as she stalks out of camp, cursing under his breath, ignoring the chorus of concerned shouts from the others. When Shadowheart demands to know where they're going, Astarion yells back over his shoulder at her to fuck off.
"Where are you going? Wait! Siobhan!" He calls after her, scrambling over the uneven terrain as they journey further and further from the safety of camp and the Myconid village.
"Leave me alone!"
"Don't be an idiot!" Astarion scolds. He reaches out and grabs the collar of her shirt, stopping her in her tracks like a scruffed cat, "It's not safe out here with just the two of us. Please just stop so we can talk."
She twists in his grip and bites down on his arm. Astarion lets go instinctively, throwing her away from himself with an indignant yelp, and rubs at the new crescent-shaped mark indented into his skin. "You bit me!"
"You'll live," she spits as she spins to face him with a glare. At least she's stopped. The intensity of her anger scares him. He's never seen her like this.
"You're upset with me," Astarion says after a beat once it's clear she's given up running away from him.
"Stunning observation, Astarion." Her face is flushed with frustration, still wet with tears. "I wonder what gave you that impression?"
"I was being crass, I'm sorry. I just don't know why you won't tell me what's going on between you and Gale. I thought . . ." Astarion trails off.
He doesn't know how to soothe her ire. Cazador was partial to groveling-the more pathetic, the better. His master didn't need them to convince him of their contrition, their terror at what he might do more than sufficed. Astarion doesn't think Siobhan would be swayed by such a performance.
"You thought? No. I don't think you've thought at all, actually. You just latch on to any idea that goes through your head to justify acting like a complete and utter asshole," Siobhan fumes, wiping away the tears that won't stop rolling down her cheeks.
"Yes. You're right. I was a prick about Gale. I'm sorry," he agrees immediately. It's the only thing Astarion can think to do. He's cocked this up beyond imagining. Wearing the hair shirt might be his only way out.
"And at the tower when I got hit by the turret, too. You are mean and spiteful." Siobhan hisses, jabbing his chest hard with her finger. It hurts a little, a gentle ache lingering where she's poked him.
"I shouldn't have laughed. I'm sorry." Astarion clutches her hand against his chest, pulling her closer.
The ease with which the apologies spill from his mouth interrupts the momentum of her tirade. She blinks and seems to notice for the first time their proximity to each other. They're practically nose to nose.
"What are you doing?" She asks, taking a step back. He moves with her and puts his other hand on top of hers. Astarion doesn't want her to put any distance between them.
"Apologizing . . ." Astarion mutters and tilts his head towards hers. He can see the moment she decides to try and slap him again, her jaw tensing and her lips pulling back in a snarl. Astarion catches her wrist before Siobhan's hand makes contact. He pushes her back against the cavern wall.
"Get off of me." Her eyes are a little wild with fear as she struggles against him. Astarion resents her for it.
"Do not hit me again." Astarion tightens his grip on her just to prove that he can. She thrashes underneath his weight, yanking this way and that to try and escape. He pushes his body against hers and pins her hands to the stone. "Siobhan . . ." he warns.
She stills. Astarion can feel her heart thundering in her chest.
"You just tried to kiss me." Her voice is shaky.
"Did I?" Astarion hums.
"What about any of this makes you think that I want to—that this would be the way to—" Astarion cuts her off before she can get too far down that line of thinking. He doesn't need another mark against him, perceived or otherwise.
"Are you really unhappy with me just because I teased you about Gale and at the tower?" Astarion asks. "Because if you are, striking me hardly seems fair."
"I— no, it's not just that." The statement ends with an exasperated whine.
"All right, what then?"
Siobhan shakes her head helplessly, blinking away more tears, and shrugs, struggling to compose herself.
"You're furious with me, and you don't know why?" Astarion frowns. She shrugs again, refusing to meet his gaze. Astarion sighs, rests his forehead against hers, and closes his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. "I don't know what you want from me."
She turns her head away, but Astarion doesn't shift to accommodate her, his forehead coming to rest on her temple instead. She's unwittingly put her throat, the unblemished side, on display with the move. Astarion swallows. He feels hungry. He knows he shouldn't. Astarion had more than his fill last night. Nevertheless, he aches with that familiar emptiness. The vein in her throat jumps invitingly under her skin. It would be so easy to just lean forward and-
"Astarion." Gale's voice is stern, clipped. Siobhan stiffens against him, wrists flexing beneath his palms. Astarion's lips curl up in a sneer, still a breath away from her throat, but his voice is cheery.
"Gale! My, my. You certainly know when to show up where you're least wanted," Astarion drawls.
"I'll only ask you once. Step away. Now. I don't think Siobhan wishes to remain in your company." The air crackles with electricity, and Astarion rips his eyes away from her throat to look at the wizard in his periphery. His eyes are flashing blue, lighting arcing between his fingers, his hands rigid at his sides.
"Is that so? Well, lucky for us, we don't have to guess, do we?" Astarion fixes him with a cold smile. Gale's nostrils flare, lighting sparking with increasing ferocity.
"Siobhan," he croons in her ear, eyes still fixed on Gale, "darling. It seems Gale is uncomfortable with our proximity. What would you like me to do? Perhaps you prefer his company to mine?"
"Enough, Astarion," Gale snaps, his voice echoing around them, "can't you see she's terrified?"
He frowns and looks down at her. Siobhan's eyes flit manically from him to Gale, wide and apprehensive. Astarion falters- a stab of doubt washing over him- then scrutinizes her expression more closely. Yes, she's frightened, he concludes, but not of him . She's frightened about what he and Gale might do to each other if their contretemps graduates to violence. Her eyes lock onto his and Astarion feels that he can practically hear her thoughts.
Please. Don't cause a scene.
The worm behind his left eye squirms and Astarion realizes that he can hear her thoughts. The surprise alone is enough to make him step back, his grip on her wrists falling away, but that's not why he does it.
No need to worry, darling. I wouldn't dream of it.
He can't tell if he's managed to project his thoughts to her, but the contented, sleepy feeling coming from the tadpole makes him think that he has. Why else would the creature seem so satiated?
"I'm fine, Gale. You can go back." Siobhan's voice trembles as she speaks. Gale does not look assured in the slightest, but the energy popping around his hands wanes before finally winking out.
"Let's all go back," Gale insists, "It's not safe out here." The wizard doesn't say ' with him ' but they all hear it.
"Aha," Astarion chuckles. "That's what I said. Isn't that right, darling?"
Siobhan sighs tiredly, the anxiety having dissipated at the same time as Gale's threat display.
"Yeah, you did. Whatever. Let's get out of here."
She doesn't look at either of them as she starts walking back toward the village, her shoulders bunched up so tightly they almost brush against her ears. Gale follows closely behind, putting himself between Astarion and Siobhan. He shoots another glare at him from over his shoulder. Astarion rolls his eyes.
Honestly.
None of them speak the whole trip back, but now that he's not being watched Astarion allows himself to feel the panic he's been keeping at bay. If he doesn't fix this between himself and Siobhan soon, he could be well and truly fucked. That would be difficult enough on its own but after this new development with Gale, Astarion is certain the wizard is going to go out of his way to be a colossal pain in his ass.
What's worse is he's still hungry. Astarion had let himself indulge too much in the fantasy of drinking from her again so soon and now the thirst is at the forefront of his mind. The more he tries to stop thinking about it the worse the longing becomes. But there's not a chance in all of the hells that he drinks from her now. Not after Gale's interruption and his watchful gaze tracking his every move. He would try and find something else to help tide him over, but the only thing he has to eat in this wretched hole are the wild rats they sometimes see scurrying in and out of the dark. He is nowhere near that desperate. Not even close.
When they arrive at camp, Astarion makes sure to wish Siobhan good night, flirtatious smirk and all, before making a beeline to his tent and closing himself inside. The restlessness he thought came from the urgent hungry ache in his stomach turns to dread, then panic. He can't stop shaking; his lungs burn, and he feels so cold and dizzy he thinks he might faint.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
What if she never lets him drink from her again? What is he going to do if she doesn't? Halsin described Moonrise Towers as a dark, dead, barren place. Very little survived the curse and what did is certainly not fit to eat. But where there were people, there were rats. If Siobhan cuts him off, he won't have a choice and eventually, he would be that desperate. The thought makes him collapse shivering on all fours and retch. Nothing comes up and his gut twists painfully.
Gods. But that isn't the worst of it, is it? All Siobhan has to do is say the word and he's out . No more band of personal bodyguards. No more help with figuring out a solution for the tadpole. No one left to help him kill Cazador. He retches again and scrambles pathetically for the water basin, splashing ice-cold water on his face and on the back of his neck, trying to ease the heat that suddenly floods his body.
How is he going to fix this? How is he going to fix this? How is he going to fix this? What could he possibly give her to buy his protection? The only thing he has to offer her she doesn't want! At least not with him. Fucking Gale . She's fucking Gale . Astarion doesn't think he's loathed anyone else as intensely as he does Gale at this moment. Excluding Cazador, of course. Fucking hanger-on. Godsdamn vulture. Circling- waiting for Astarion to slip up so he could swoop in at just the right moment after he'd done all the work for him. Her knight in shining armor. Bloody scavenger.
The anger grounds him slightly—just enough to settle his stomach. He manages to crawl to his bedroll and curls up in a trembling ball. His heart doesn't stop pounding and his lungs heave. He tries and fails to sleep for hours, tossing and turning. Eventually, he gives up and instead tries thinking of a plan, but nothing comes to him. Astarion can hardly string two thoughts together. Then he smells it-that rich, coppery, mouthwatering smell of blood. Siobhan's blood.
Astarion sits up so quickly it makes his head spin. The scent is overpowering, heavy on his tongue and filling his nostrils. Taunting and just out of reach. She couldn't have thought up a better torture if she tried. Astarion wraps his arms around his torso and digs his fingers into his ribs. The thought of Siobhan cutting herself, spilling her blood- wasting it is almost too much to bear. A strangled, helpless groan slips out of him, and he claps a hand over his mouth.
Does he dare? Does he sneak over to her tent and try to convince her to let him have a taste? His body moves before the decision solidifies in his mind- he can't resist. Astarion finds her splayed out like a starfish, half-naked, legs slick with red, and dagger in her left hand. Siobhan doesn't startle at his sudden entrance, just turns to look at him with lidded eyes, every movement lethargic. There's too much blood.
"I . . . think I got carried away . . . " her eyes roll back into her head and she swoons. Astarion's heart leaps into his throat. Oh no. Oh fuck.