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In retrospect, Astarion should have known this group was full of freaks the first night, when their entire camp felt Gale’s secondhand orgasm.
Overall, Astarion is pleased with his three new allies. Or rather, he’s pleased to have three allies. The trio themselves are…lacking. The cleric seems skilled, if self-serious, but Shar worshippers rarely pursued you because they wanted a cuddle. The human wizard and the tiefling bard, on the other hand, sicken him. They’ve barely known each other half an hour before they’re walking together, giggling about magic and enthusing about some mystery novel Aisling had pulled off a corpse. It’s like the naïve little darlings have never met unreliable strangers before. They’re not even trying to act suspicious. Astarion is half-tempted to kill one of them, just to teach the other a lesson about being gullible. (That’s probably his hunger talking.)
Regardless, allies are allies. Gale and Aisling both seem like easy targets, if they can take their eyes off each other, and if Shadowheart tries anything he can kill her in her sleep. Astarion pretends to nibble on their dinner of dry rations, retreats to his tent, and trances for the evening, oddly at peace.
The flash of lust shakes him an hour later.
It’s not an orgasm, not really. Astarion’s not hard, and the moment before the incident he’d been dreaming about the taste of boar blood, which is gamey but hardly arousing. Still, something slides down his spine, and it isn’t pain. And he barely has time to process that before the tadpole squirms behind his eye in ecstasy, which raises all sorts of questions about mindflayer biology Astarion would rather not think about. Actually, he’s quite nauseous thinking about it. Yuck.
Astarion doesn’t know much about ceremorphosis, but he knows it’s not pleasant. This isn’t a symptom. This is…something else. It feels warm and happy, and there’s the taste of magic on the back of his tongue. Assuming it is an orgasm, it’s almost certainly coming from one of his traveling companions. Gods, not only is he stuck with a trio of inept weirdos, he’s telepathically linked to them . Wonderful. At least he might extract some fun making them squirm.
The next morning, Gale seems normal, and Aisling and Shadowheart are both resolutely avoiding eye contact. Quite frankly, Astarion’s disappointed that it was such a short mystery.
“Gale, my dear,” Astarion drawls, “sleep well last night?”
Gale gives him an odd look. Well, at least he’s suspicious of someone. “As well as one can with a worm in one’s mind. It seems our companions can’t say the same.”
Aisling coughs. “My bedroll was, ah, scratchy.”
Shadowheart doesn’t say a word. Astarion sighs.
“Gale, darling,” Astarion drawls, “my pal, my old friend, mon freur . May I give you a bit of advice?”
Gale grits his jaw. “I don’t suppose saying no would stop you, so go on.”
“ Wonderful . Next time you ah…enjoy yourself, keep in mind that our little brainworms can talk to each other. And about an hour after dinner last night, they were having quite the party.”
Gale blanches. “You’re saying…oh. Oh, gods .”
Shadowheart looks at her pack very intently. Aisling blushes so deep, her skin turns even redder.
“What are you all so embarrassed about?”, Astarion pouts, filing their reactions under his mental list of the party’s weaknesses. “For gods’ sake. It’s just sex.”
He purrs out “sex” in his most seductive tone possible. Gale just shoots him a death glare. Heterosexual, then, Astarion mentally notes. Shame.
“We should get moving,” Aisling says quickly. She shoots Gale a look, and her heart rate spikes. If this group stays alive long enough that he needs to seduce one of them, his target is, apparently, Shadowheart. Wonderful .
“Yes,” Shadowheart says. “Let us walk.”
“To the Grove, then,” Gale says. “And let us never mention this again.”
“Why Gale, darling,” Astarion purrs, because seduction aside, the wizard is so hilariously easy to fuck with. “that’s a tall order. It was simply unforgettable.”
“You are full up,” the githyanki they’ve just recruited sneers. “Dismiss your weakest warrior.” (She’s a charmer, but Astarion is best at running things in the bedroom, and Lae’zel seems like she’d rather swallow a live tarantula than submit to someone. His target is, unfortunately, still Shadowheart.)
Aisling casts Shadowheart an unapologetic look. “Shadowheart. Could you, um, wait for me at –“
“No,” Shadowheart spits. “Don’t tell me you’re replacing me with the likes of her .”
“Perhaps,” Lae’zel hisses, advancing on Shadowheart, “she has realized the advantage of a warrior who can hit her marks, instead of hiding behind a false god.”
Ah. So that’s how it’s going to be with these two. At least it’ll be entertaining, right up until they kill each other.
“My Goddess could smite your people before your next lying breath,” Shadowheart says.
“Then let us test your devotion,” Lae’zel replies, voice full of fury, eyes never leaving Shadowheart’s. “I’d have you against the wall before you could finish your prayer.”
The wave of arousal from Shadowheart is so strong, it knocks Aisling flat.
“Well!” Gale yells, sounding choked. “That was something! Lae’zel, if you’re going to work with us, there’s something you should know –“
“Do NOT speak over me, wizard,” Lae’zel spits, although she looks as flustered as the rest of them. “We have ways of gagging your kind.”
Gale’s arousal, as it turns out, still tastes like magic.
“Well,” Astarion drawls, ignoring Aisling’s whimper. “This has been informative.”
“I’m going back to camp,” Shadowheart says, cheeks flushed. “That was…it was a fluke.”
“Sure, darling,” Astarion drawls. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
Shadowheart’s running away before he can finish his sentence.
“Lae’zel,” Aisling says, voice shaky. “I’m afraid that our tadpoles sometimes cause us to share – private emotions.”
“You are referring to arousal?” Lae’zel says bluntly.
Aisling gulps. “Um.”
They fall into line behind the two women as they walk their way to the Grove. Astarion whistles.
“Not a word, elf,” Gale spits.
“Understood,” Astarion says smoothly. “Consider me gagged.”
Gale lights his boots on fire. It’s worth it.
“Wyll,” Aisling says that night at their camp near the Grove, new ally in tow. “There’s, ah. Something you should know about our tadpoles.”
“That they’re turning us into mindflayers?,” Wyll asks, cheerfully oblivious as he devours his bowl of stew. “I was already aware of that fact, I’m afraid. We’d best find this Halsin fellow as fast as we –“
“Yes,” Lae’zel barks, interrupting. “And if one of us reaches climax, the sensation is shared.”
“If one of us reaches – “ Wyll looks genuinely confused, bless him, and Astarion quietly updates his targets list. Maybe this one is sheltered enough to fall for the vampire act. “I’m afraid I’m unsure what you mean, Lae’zel.”
“It means,” Lae’zel huffs, “that you must refrain from pleasuring yourself.”
Wyll chokes on his stew.
“Unless you’re an exhibitionist, darling,” Astarion tries, testing the waters. “I’d certainly enjoy the show.”
Wyll hides his face in embarrassment. Astarion waits.
Not one hint of arousal. Godsdamnit. Is there no one in this camp who wants Astarion to top them? How is he supposed to work in these conditions?
“Gale,” Wyll says, voice strained as he aggressively changes the topic, “this stew is excellent.”
“Thank you, my friend!” Gale replies, a bit too loudly. “Although I’m afraid the meat was a bit undercooked.”
(It was. The red center was delicious.)
Karlach is a big, raging teddy bear of a barbarian, and as she tears the home of the false paladins to pieces while whooping in glee, Astarion doesn’t even bother to add her to the seduction list. If that woman wants to be stepped on, he’s a vegetarian.
“You lot alright?” she asks that evening, swinging her ax as they walk back to camp. “Everyone seems a bit tense.”
Aisling sighs. “Please, somebody else tell her.”
Astarion turns back. Wyll’s walking a good ten feet behind the rest of them, darkness in his eyes, murmuring about the “evening of reckoning.” Gods, this group is so dramatic .
“Well, Karlach, darling – can I call you darling?” Astarion waves her response away before she can speak. “Fantastic. Anyway, turns out our wonderful little mind worms speak to each other.”
Karlach furrows her brow. “What, you can all feel each other’s feelings? Gods, that seems like a pain in the arse.”
“Well, sometimes it’s a pain in the arse,” Astarion says blithely. “But only if you don’t use enough oil.”
Aisling trips over her own feet. Astarion does his best not to snicker.
“You’re sayin' – no.” Karlach gives him a knowing look. “You’re serious. Your brains share when you think about sex?”
Gods, she’s a quick study. She’d be a perfect candidate, if not for everything else about her. “Spot on, dear. So needless to say, we’re all a bit pent up.”
Karlach snorts. “You’re tellin’ me. This thing –“ she taps her chest, “burns so bright, it’ll scorch anyone I get my hands on. I haven’t even had a hug in years.”
For a moment, Astarion forgets about messing with her. He’d touched too many people who’d went too long without, and they were always the most responsive. And the most betrayed, afterwards.
He wonders if Sebastian is still in the bowels of Cazador’s palace.
“Hello? Earth to Fancypants,” Karlach says, snapping her fingers in Astarion’s face. “You were a million miles away.”
Astarion pastes on his best smile. “Just thinking about how pent up you must be, darling. And how… creative we could get if you wanted some help.”
Karlach rolls her eyes. “Nice try, mate. Say it like you mean it next time.”
Well. No one said the “seduce someone” plan was perfect.
“In position,” Astarion whispers, balancing narrowly on the support beam on top of Dror Ragzlin. Across the way, Gale closes his eyes in concentration, casting Invisibility on Astarion’s crouched form. Aisling, despite her poor taste in men, is an excellent tactician, and she’d positioned their small team in the best spot to strike. All he has to do is wait for the signal, and he’ll fire a single sneak attack, downing Ragzlin before the hobgoblin can even –
“I WILL HAVE YOUR HEAD, ISTIK!”
Below them, Astarion watches as Lae’zel buries her greatsword into a passing goblin, its face a mask of befuddlement as it drops dead.
Astarion sighs. “Shit.”
The fight is long, brutal, and bloody. It would’ve been shorter and neater if they’d had a healer, but Aisling doesn’t put Shadowheart and Lae’zel in the same party anymore. Considering that Shadowheart’s arousal tastes like licorice, Astarion doesn’t blame her.
They’ve barely felled the last goblin before Aisling turns to Lae’zel. “What WAS THAT?”
“The runt attempted to befall me! He threw himself upon the path I trod!”
“He TRIPPED, Lae’zel!” Aisling yells, halfway hysterical. “He was DRUNK!”
“HE TRIPPED MENACINGLY!”
“Gods, you are IMPOSSIBLE to lead!” Aisling screams. (Astarion wants to remind them that Minthara Baenre is waiting for them in the next chamber, but frankly, this is too much fun.) “Do you ever willingly follow instructions? Or will I have to make you? ”
Suddenly, the back of his throat tastes like magic again. Astarion sighs.
“Really, Gale?”
Gale coughs. “We should go break them up.”
Maybe it’s the fact that Lae’zel stole his sneak attack. Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t fed in hours. Maybe it’s the fact that magic makes his throat itch and licorice tastes disgusting. But suddenly, Astarion has had enough.
“Alright!” Astarion yells, sliding down the ladder. “Stop it! Both of you!”
“She won’t! She won’t stop! Because Lae’zel doesn’t LISTEN to TACTICAL INSTRUCTIONS – “
“I will not abide by those DISRESPECTING MY PEOPLE –“
“Gods,” Astarion whines, “please, both of you, would you just fuck someone?”
The room falls into gobsmacked silence.
“No one in this room has…minded themselves in nearly a week,” Astarion continues, frustration bubbling over. “You all have hair triggers shorter than a gnome’s toupee! And some of us,” he says, shooting a look at Gale, because fuck subtlety, “are getting quite sick of it!”
Aisling’s eyes go wide in recognition. Gale adjusts his robes.
“I will admit,” Lae’zel grumbles, speaking her apology like her mouth is full of gravel, “I have been…reckless, in recent battles. My people deal with our sexual urges freely. Repression leads to impatience and indelicacy in combat.”
Astarion sighs. “Yes, we’re aware. I had a very fancy-looking trick shot lined up at the beginning of that battle, you know. It would have been very impressive.”
“Rogues too proud of their trick shots are often compensating for something,” Gale mutters. Aisling snickers.
“Oh, do shut up, Gale,” Astarion snaps. “I can’t even gag you, you’d like it too much.”
Aisling and Gale fall silent. Aisling’s arousal, it turns out, tastes like ash. (Maybe it’s a tiefling thing.)
“Your fire is most unpleasant, istik,” Lae’zel spits at Aisling. “But on to other matters. We must remedy this affliction.”
“Please do,” Astarion says. “And do it as far away from me as possible.”
Aisling looks confused. “Would that even work? I don’t know if it’s affected by distance.”
“You should know if that would…wait.” Astarion furrows his brow. “You’re telling me I’ve been dealing with all of your sexual frustration for nearly a week, and that entire time, you didn’t think to just leave your tent and get off somewhere else?!?!?!”
Astarion’s yell echoes off the walls. Silence echoes.
“The forest is dangerous,” Aisling mutters.
“My bed is quite comfortable, you know,” Gale says. “Hard to find, ah, that level of comfort elsewhere.”
“The dog wanders about camp freely,” Lae’zel says. “His eyes are innocent. I do not wish to scar him.”
Astarion drops his head. “Gods, you’re hopeless.”
“Are you done yet?” A gravely voice calls, and Astarion looks up to see Minthara Baenre leaning against the entrance to Ragzlin’s chambers, suited up for a fight. “Because this is truly entertaining, but the Absolute still calls upon me to spill your blood.”
Gale swears. “Shit.”
Minthara is in the perfect position for his trick shot, and Astarion pulls it without thinking twice. It does, indeed, look very impressive, before it bounces off her armor with barely a scratch.
“Darling,” Astarion growls, preparing his next arrow as the hoard of goblins descends, “we are talking about this later.”
Later that night, after Aisling’s paid most of their money to resurrect Gale and Lae’zel and downed most of their healing potions, she calls a camp meeting.
“So,” Aisling says awkwardly, a cut still glittering on her forehead. “It’s come to my attention that we have an orgasm problem.”
“Truly, darling,” Astarion says, flipping the dagger he’d pulled off Minthara’s corpse, “your powers of deduction are infinite.”
“Piss off, Astarion,” Aisling snaps, “or I’m taking that outfit for myself.”
Astarion gasps theatrically, reaching up to protect the armor he’d also pulled off Minthara’s corpse. “You wouldn’t. I called dibs.”
“Dibs are sacred,” Karlach says knowingly. (Astarion knew she was his favorite.) “Besides, you look smashing in it.”
“I am beautiful, aren’t I?”
“Well,” Wyll says, eyes knowing as he finishes an apple, “I suppose that when you visit Aisling’s tent at night, it’s important to look your best.”
Gale freezes. Across the way, a mushroom bursts into flames. “I’m sorry, I beg your pardon?”
“I’m just letting him feed off of me!” Aisling replies. “He needs blood! He’s a vampire!”
Shadowheart looks up from her soup. “Astarion, did she just say you’re a vampire?”
“Of course he’s a bloody vampire!” Gale yells. “Look at him! He’s got fangs!”
Karlach takes Wyll’s apple core and chomps into it. “It was pretty obvious, mate.”
Astarion scowls. “You people are no fun.”
“Touch my neck, elf,” Lae’zel hisses, “and I will detach yours from your body. I am very adept at making my prey go limp.”
Licorice, again . Shadowheart sighs. “She’s doing this on purpose, isn’t she.”
Lae’zel’s mouth twists into something that could charitably be called a smile.
“Back to the matter at hand,” Aisling says primly. “Gale, like we discussed earlier?”
Gale blushes. “As you wish.”
He waves his hand, and a giant, spectral wolf blooms in front of them.
“This,” Aisling says, “is our new guardian. We’ll name him at some point.”
Karlach raises her hand. “I suggest Wolfy.”
Wolfy barks, wagging his tail and trotting over to Karlach for pets. Astarion has a feeling that this won’t exactly be the solution Aisling was hoping for.
“Alright, then, this is Wolfy. From now on, anyone who needs to…take care of business will come to Gale, get Wolfy, and walk at least five minutes away from camp. Tell Wolfy to guard you, and he’ll walk the perimeter. He’ll keep watch while you…” Aisling clears her throat. “Finish yourself.”
Lae’zel wrinkles her nose. “I do not wish to tend to myself while being watched by a pup.”
“He’s not actually a dog, Lae’zel,” Aisling sighs. “And he won’t be watching you, he’ll be circling the perimeter. But if you want to get ambushed halfway to…completion, feel free to leave him behind.”
“If I may, Lae’zel,” Shadowheart says. “Perhaps we could leave Wolfy if we traveled in pairs.” She clears her throat. “I could accompany you. For, ah, efficiency’s sake.”
Wyll whistles. “Bold.”
Silence hangs for a moment.
“Very well,” Lae’zel says. “Let us go.”
Shadowheart looks shocked that that actually worked. “Wait, this very moment?”
“I’m sorry, will the clearing in which we copulate be rosier in an hour? Yes, now. Hurry, before I lose my patience.”
Shadowheart grabs her shield. “Right. Well, um…sleep well, everybody. You as well, Wolfy.”
Her and Lae’zel scurry into the woods. Aisling facepalms. Wolfy barks.
“Well. Since she started it,” Karlach says, turning to Wyll. “You can cast mage hand, yeah?”
“I believe so,” Wyll says, blinking slowly. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I can’t burn spectral conjurations. Finger’s a finger,” Karlach says, gesturing to Wyll. “Come on, pretty boy, don’t keep me waiting.”
Wyll’s arousal, it turns out, tastes like honeycomb. Combined with Karlach’s, it’s pleasantly spicy.
“Well,” Astarion says, watching the pair trot into the woods. “If there’s a forest fire in the morning, we know who to blame.”
“If it’s any consolation, Aisling,” Gale says kindly, “I thought it was a very good plan.”
Wolfy whines, and Aisling scratches him behind the ears. “Don’t worry, boy. They’re all a bit weird. You dodged a bullet.”
Scratch trots up to Wolfy and nuzzles him, stumbling back at the strange spectral texture of his fur. Within a moment, the two are sniffing each other’s butts in greeting, so at least he got over it quickly.
“Well,” Gale says, pulling his robes around him. “Now that camp is unusually quiet, I believe it’s time for bed.”
Aisling looks like she wants to rip his head off. “Truly, Gale? After everything today?”
“Aisling,” Gale says, steel in his voice, “you don’t know what you’re asking. I am a dangerous man.”
Aisling leans forward. “Maybe I like dangerous. Have you never thought to ask?”
There’s ash and magic in the back of Astarion’s mouth now. The combination is almost necrotic. Yuck.
“And on that note,” Astarion sighs, mentally writing off his evening of tranquility, “I’m going to go drain some dinner.” Shadowheart and Lae’zel went south, and Karlach and Wyll went east, so…north. He’ll go north. Maybe northwest, just to be safe. “Have fun, use protective enchantments, don’t do anything I would do.”
He’s almost out of camp when Aisling stops him.
“Astarion, wait.”
Astarion sighs. “If you’re hoping to make him jealous, darling, that ship has long since sailed.”
“No. It’s…” Aisling purses her lips. “Will you be alright? Because you haven’t…since this whole thing started. Nobody’s tasted…yours.”
Oh.
It’s strange, having someone concerned about him. She could be lying , a treacherous part of his brain whispers, one that sounds more like Cazador than he can bear. But Aisling’s stupid, heartfelt trust was the first thing about her he’d noticed; either she’s playing a very long game, considering they’ve been on the road for a tenday now, or she means it.
His plan failed before he could even put it into fruition, and she still cares. Somehow. The kindness is more than he knows how to feel.
“Not my cup of tea,” he says, straining to stay flippant. “I'll be just fine, darling.”
Aisling nods. “Alright. Be safe.”
He flashes her his fangs, tapping down a swell of relief at the lack of follow-up questions. “Darling. What would be the fun in that?”
He drains a cow that night, and when he comes home, belly full, the camp is peaceful and quiet. It’s the best rest he’s had since the Nautiloid.
Wyll finishes off the Beholder with a perfect Eldritch Blast, and Astarion scowls as his mouth floods with spicy honeycomb.
“Babe,” Karlach whispers, “that was incredible.”
Astarion pointedly snaps his arrow in half. “I’m right here, you know.”
Karlach at least has the dignity to look bashful. “Sorry, Fangs.”
“Don’t worry about it.” And he means it: all three pairings in their strange little group have been good at keeping things out of tadpole range lately. Not perfect – he really could’ve lived without knowing what Gale and Aisling got up to when they “investigated” that mage tower, or that Shadowheart likes her hair pulled – but better. Really, Astarion wishes he knew less about all off these people, but at least he can trance in peace at night.
Aisling picks her way over, stepping delicately over a handful of Drow corpses. “Astarion, I have a fire arrow for you.”
“Much obliged, darling. I don’t suppose that ruby is also for me?”
Aisling shoots him a glare. “Don’t push it.”
“Of course not. Who do you take me for?”
“A man with sticky fingers,” Aisling huffs. “I know I didn’t lose that emerald last week.”
“Tie your bags down while you and Gale are off stargazing,” Astarion says blithely, “and maybe you’ll misplace things less.”
Aisling refuses to dignify that with a response. “Wyll! Karlach! Get your loot, we need to keep moving!”
Wyll’s mage hand is ruffling Karlach’s hair. It’s disgusting. “Coming!”
They fall into line behind the happy couple. Karlach and the mage hand are holding hands. It’s so sweet, Astarion can feel his fangs rotting.
“Gods,” he whines, tired of the Underdark and the lack of sun and being surrounded by fucking couples, “look at that. It’s revolting . Sometimes I wish you all were still pining for each other.”
Aisling snorts. “No, you don’t.”
Astarion hasn’t tasted licorice in weeks. It’s bliss. “No, I don’t. But what does a man live for if he can’t complain?”
“Stealing his friend’s hard-earned gemstones?”
Astarion shoots her a look. “Don’t push it.”
(That night, Wolfy drops Aisling’s ruby in Astarion’s tent in exchange for belly rubs. He never said Gale and Aisling weren’t gullible.)