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ASTARION POV
After their small respite in the hills, the group had returned to the previous valley as agreed. It was strange to actively move back, but they would need a proper rest, and it only seemed right to indulge in a little celebration given how badly the Teiflings wished to give it. They found them easily enough, Halsin sending out his co-ordinates, and eagerly greeting them upon arrival. The Druid was the size of a bear in or out of that form, Astarion only just managing to dodge a bone-crushing hug. The group was welcomed, the preparations began, and tents were set up. And as they did, the sun dipped towards the horizon, and yet another day of freedom passed. One fraught with fights, danger and even a Lich Queen, but still a day of freedom. Astarion watched the last few golden rays slip over the edge of the world and went to his tent to freshen up. So much remained unknown, and so many new things had entered the fray, but that night they could relax. That night, they could enjoy.
The campsite was bustling. It was almost nostalgic for Astarion as he meandered through the numbers, the noise akin to a busy street in Baldur's gate when one might wander from tavern to tavern. Though thankfully that night all he hunted was another bottle of wine, and weighing up whether or not he should seek one woman in particular's attention.
She had been chatting with various people all evening. Upon reaching the camp she had gone to bathe with Karlach, eaten and slept. He made sure of it. So easily she slipped into looking after others first, and he wasn't having it. But no, this time, she did well and tended to herself. And as she stood conversing with their friends, their comrades, and even those they had saved, she looked like she was almost fully back to her old strength. In fact, in the light of the lanterns, with a few drinks bringing that flush to her cheeks, she looked wonderful. Truly. He wouldn't bother denying that he always found her alluring, but especially that night, she was a vision. Dark hair swept back, still cut short, but growing a little day by day, curling a bit. She wore simple camp clothes, but ones that still hugged that stunning figure, all power and muscle but with those softer curves as well. And those eyes. He jolted, realising she had glanced his way.
He took another sip and made a quick turn. Panic. Genuine panic had risen in his chest upon meeting her eyes, and so he accepted that as indication enough and headed back to his tent. What a coward. With every step he cursed himself and his weakness. Just go and speak to her – yet the words stalled and his body lurched a little faster towards his tent. He had spoken to her on the road, yes. But now it felt different. More weighted. How could he just carry on like it was all fine? Not only had he nearly drained her dry so soon before, but there was the other glaring aspect he hadn't said yet. He had known her before all of this. No, he hadn't lied per-say, but he also hadn't explained the truth.
What a mess.
He deserved to be alone that night. To be lonely in his watching the stars and simply reminisce about what he had once shared with her. He deserved much worse than that, really. But for now he–
"You avoiding me, Pretty Boy?"
He stopped.
He stared ahead at his tent. It would be easy enough to simply keep walking forward, ignore her, give the cold shoulder and let her come to her own conclusions. Then again, she'd likely grab his arm and demand an explanation if he did that and having her touch him in that moment wasn't going to help him keep a clear head.
So he turned, screwed his smirk into place and raised his wine to her, glad he still had hold of that bottle as he gripped the neck tightly. "Avoiding? Such accusations. Whatever would I do that for?"
She raised a brow. "You practically ran away when I saw you just now."
"Well…" he sipped his wine, "can you blame me? The bad books is not a place I'm used to being."
"Bad books? Whose?" She glanced around the camp. "Have the others said something since we got back? They told me they were fine with you. Doesn't seem like them to say things sneakily. But maybe I can–"
"No, no, Little One, fret not. I only meant my own guilt." He clarified as her frown fell into place and her mind began to churn. Always so concerned about others. She was maddening.
"Oh." Her mouth closed slowly. "I said we were good, right?"
"Mm, indeed you did. I just have a few pesky voices in my head to quell, that's all." He chuckled and tapped his temple. "Though perhaps that joke is in poor taste."
"Maybe a little." She grinned and stepped closer. "So how long is this guilt trip gonna send you running?"
The sweet wine was on her breath, but lightly. She had enjoyed a glass, maybe two, but she certainly wasn't drunk. Her eyes were too focused for that. But her cheeks still had a flush on them. The heat of the evening perhaps, or maybe a touch of nerves? He steadied himself. Do not jump to conclusions.
He tilted his head. "Missing me already?"
She looked to the side. "And what if I am?"
Temptation spiked and he took a long breath – intending to calm himself down, but only making things worse by getting another whiff of her delectable blood. He had always known she smelt wonderful, since knowing her in Baldur's Gate. But now he truly understood why and it was tricky to concentrate.
He held the bottle tighter. "Then I'm honoured."
She smiled. "Have you been seeing all the folks around here? They're so thrilled to be here, to be thanking us. It's kind of mad, isn't it?"
"Indeed. I never really pictured myself as a Hero. Never thought I'd be the one they'd toast for saving so many lives. And now that I'm here…"
"You consider it awful?" She laughed and he caught himself stuck over his next line. "Astarion for god's sake just enjoy yourself. We did a good thing, and for whatever reason you had to join in, you saved some lives. That doesn't mean you have to suddenly be a saint." She took the bottle from him and took a long swig, him being hypnotised by the way her throat bobbed.
What would it be like to lick that supple flesh while she drank? To kiss under her jaw as her mouth opened in a euphoric moan? He shook his head. Focus.
She then raised the bottle to him and handed it back. "To doing the right thing, for bloody once."
He hesitated, but as those eyes lingered on him he found himself compelled to join. The wine was nothing to praise either, but he also knew she was fine with plonk when that was all that was available. Would she ever recall those fine vintages they had shared? The crisp notes. The heady flavours. The sweetness of it as they shared it in a slow, deep, kiss.
Astarion cleared his throat, the opportunity right there. She was seeking him out, smiling at him, sharing his wine. And clearly she wanted his company. But did he want hers, like that? With all his mixed up feelings on intimacy in general he had to pause and consider. Did he want that closeness? Yes. Yes he did. On some level, absolutely. He wished to take her to some dark corner and taste every inch of her, to know those plush curves and hear her breath quicken under his skilled touch. But it stung to consider something else… In this version of their lives, this 'new page' between them, was she only viewing him as something pretty to distract herself with? Was he only something to be used for pleasure? She had spoken of appreciation without transaction. But speaking and acting were very different. His mind thrummed. And he took another sip of wine. Stop overthinking. On some level, base or not, he wished to be with her as well. And for now, that might well suffice.
He gathered some courage with another sip. "Alright, alright, you have a point. Though now that we've done the heroic bit, all I want is a bit of fun. Is that so much to ask?"
"Mm, from you? Might be." She winked and watched him, that familiar warmth in her gaze making his mouth water for entirely different reasons. It was a look that had led him up the stairs. That had pressed him against doors as she openly wanted him. That had peeled away his clothing and kissed every inch of pale skin revealed beneath. She was a woman that knew what she wanted and she was also the woman that had taken the time to know if he did as well. She had asked him back in Baldur's Gate. Was she asking now? He wasn't sure. But he knew what he wanted. Badly. He had adored her for it then, and he had been longing for it since really. When he was honest with himself. Shit.
He chuckled. "Now, now, don't be so sour. I like a good time as much as anyone."
She eyed him, raising a brow and cocking her hip that little bit more.
He continued, taking the leap. "You know, we could make our own entertainment, darling. Get a little closer, so to speak."
Her eyes sparked with intrigue, and of course, mischief. The red of her lip paled under the bite like he recalled and he found himself unable to avoid staring. It would be so easy to reach out, run his thumb along that soft lip and pulled it free, before angling her chin upwards and claiming a–
"Only if you say please."
He blinked, and her smirk made him warm all over. She wasn't asking that time, no, instead she was asking him to ask.
Interesting.
He raised a brow. "What?"
"Say, 'please'." She challenged, voice lowered, welcoming. And he knew it was just a silly power-play, just her having fun. She wanted him. That was clear. And she knew he wanted her. And so this… This was just her playful nature dancing towards him. All warmth and light as always. A pathway back to what they had shared for those three months in the city. A chance to do so again?
He chuckled. "Please."
She giggled. "Good boy. Let's see each other later on?"
"Cheeky pup." He shook his head. "Very well, I'll see you later. Once everyone else is in their beds, snoring away, we'll slip away and find one another, alright?"
"Mm, sounds good. See you then, Pretty Boy."
And as she walked away, he found himself unable to stop watching, only just managing to tear away his gaze when she paused to look back. He stepped into his tent. No going back now. Not because she wouldn't be alright with him changing his mind, but because he knew that was the last thing he wanted. Because what he did want, with every fibre of his suddenly thrumming being, was her. Amaya. But he had to be careful. Not only did she consider this her first time with him, but he knew what her blood tasted of now, he knew the wonders awaiting under her skin as well as the worship of it in itself. He took a long sip of wine and then breathed deeply. This was about his pleasure, of course. But he would also focus on her. On her wants. On her comfort. So often she had done the same for him, he already knew she was a kind and giving lover. So he would ensure she knew the same of him. All of him.
He winced and set the bottle down. Should he tell her? But what would it really accomplish at that point, other than taint everything they had shared? Coward. He ran a hand through his hair and looked to the mirror, knowing there was nothing to be seen, but wondering what he might if he could. And then he sighed. None of it was easy. None of it was simple. But maybe he could simply aim to enjoy himself, to allow her to enjoy herself. To give them both a night to simply bask in.
Astarion loosened his collar. "You're in trouble now, old boy…"
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