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“Aw, mommy and daddy’s beautiful little girl is all grown up!”
Tav’s stomach drops. It feels as though everything slows to a crawl, but Astarion’s surprised glance could not have lasted more than a second.
This was a terrible mistake.
‘Let’s split up!’ Tav said. ‘We can cover more ground!’ he suggested, and out of the entire party, he allowed Astarion to follow him into the fucking teahouse.
Why couldn’t Lae’zel or Karlach be here to provide some muscle? Gale would have been fantastic—at least he may have gotten in a counterspell.
As if being taken by surprise at Auntie Ethel being a hag wasn’t enough, now one of his best-kept secrets has been revealed. Distracted, Tav is unprepared to resist the spell the hag casts on him until he finds himself unable to move. He opens his mouth to sling a creative string of profanities at her before she interrupts him with more ridicule.
“They don’t know? Well, why don’t you wear a pretty little dress later and show everyone what you really are.”
He lost sight of Astarion. Honestly, he wouldn't be too surprised if the vampire had run off to leave him at the mercy of the hag to save his skin.
Tav judged his companion too soon, as Ethel shrieks when an arrow lodges in her neck, his fellow rogue finally reappearing with a well-aimed shot. But he’s too close, and the hag blasts Astarion with a ray of sickness. Sprawled on the ground, he heaves and coughs as if he might expel a lung.
She turns to the incapacitated vampire, laughing manically, “Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave? Thought you’d be used to unpleasant tastes in your mouth!”
The look on Astarion’s face is horrified. They all know the vampire is a spawn, implying there is a Vampire Lord that turned him, but to be considered a slave?
After his initial surprise, Tav finds he can move again—the fallen elf must have distracted her just enough for her concentration to break. Jumping from his crouched position, Tav throws his dagger at the hag with impressive accuracy, the blade sinking to the hilt into her shoulder. Without hesitation, she grabs the weapon and yanks it out, tossing it to the side where it clatters against the stone. He briefly makes eye contact with his companion, who has scrambled up from his position on the ground with fangs bared in fury, hands fisted at his sides.
“And you! You can drink, kill, and fuck your way through the entire realm, and you’ll never forget your entire family wishes you were dead. You think your friends will accept you?”
Unnerved by the uncanny accuracy of the hag’s statements, Tav doesn’t attack in time to prevent Ethel from returning her attention to Astarion to scream more vitriol at him.
“Deep down, you like being leashed, don’t you?”
“You fucking piece of shit—” Tav hisses.
“Ah—you do as well, I see!” Ethel cuts Tav off. “Why don’t you let this one tie you up and put you in your place? You know you want—”
She screams as Astarion’s fangs sink into her neck, shredding her flesh. There’s a momentary struggle, but the vampire holds tight, tearing at her with his nails, as well, digging lines across her face that begin to leak blood. Finally, she tosses him off her back, but he lands gracefully and vaults back toward her without hesitation.
It’s too little too late—rather than attacking the pair again, she rushes to the fireplace and vanishes into thin air, leaving Astarion to leap at nothing. He spins around and meets Tav’s eyes. He looks ready to lunge forward again as blood drips from his mouth to run down his chin, a low growl in his throat.
Tav chokes on his next breath at the sight of the untamed creature before him.
“Astarion?” he slowly approaches. “You’re—”
The spawn pauses at the familiar voice, taking measured breaths before standing straight and relaxing his clenched fists. He suddenly retches again, coughing up hag blood.
“Ugh—” he heaves, coming back to his senses. “Absolutely foul—worse than the goblins.”
“What the fuck were you thinking, jumping on her like that?” Tav steps forward, jabbing his finger in the vampire’s chest.
“Did you want everyone else to arrive and hear what she had to say, or do you want them to find out on your terms?” Astarion shouts, prodding Tav right back.
“I—” Tav stutters, breaking away from Astarion’s intense gaze and stepping back. “Yeah, alright. Thank you.”
“No need,” Astarion mumbles, waving Tav away dismissively. “Besides—you gave me the pleasure of killing that Gur hunter. Now we’re even.”
Tav clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck absent-mindedly. “And… You won’t tell anyone?”
“What did I just say?” Astarion crosses his arms and scowls. “That is for you to share on your terms. I won’t tell; cross my undead heart and hope to die again.”
Tav laughs brightly despite his immense discomfort, suddenly feeling more at ease. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to stifle the sounds of his continued amusement.
Astarion smiles playfully at the tiefling, licking his lips clean before coughing again at the taste. “Oh—Disgusting."
“You look awful,” Tav teases. “Hag blood must be revolting.”
“Awful?” Astarion replies indignantly. “I look as gorgeous as ever.”
“Hmm,” the tiefling contemplates. “A bit sickly, actually.”
“The hag insulted us enough—I don’t need you chiming in too.”
“May I?” Tav suddenly asks, stepping forward, and the vampire nods cautiously. Tav pulls a clean piece of fabric from some hidden place on his armor. He wipes the streaks of blood from Astarion’s chin and the splatter that stains his lips red, rubbing the flesh gently. If Tav tugs at his upper lip just enough to reveal the tip of a fang again, Astarion kindly says nothing. “There. Much better.”
“I can think of something I would rather taste,” Astarion suggests as he takes Tav by the wrist and tilts his head as if to press his lips to the man’s palm; instead, he smiles coyly, revealing his sharp teeth as though preparing to bite down.
The tiefling swallows the lump in his throat and steps away, pulling his hand back as he grins in amusement, his expression turning stern. “Are you alright?”
“Hmm?” Astarion pouts, narrowing his eyes. “Should I not be?”
“The whole slave and being leashed thing?”
“I won’t discuss your secrets, and you won’t discuss mine,” the elf spits. “Do not pity me, and I won’t pity you. Yes?”
“Jeez—okay,” Tav steps back to cross his arms across his chest, frowning. “Deal.”
Astarion huffs as he spins on his heel and stomps away. Tav groans in exasperation before dutifully following the rapidly retreating figure out of the teahouse to begin the struggle of tracking down their traveling companions.
The rest of the day is a blur. They eventually regroup and huddle together to decide what to do next. The majority votes to simply let the hag go. While Tav and Astarion agree with this decision, that doesn’t stop them from huddling outside the elf’s tent to brainstorm gruesome ways to exact revenge until Gale finishes preparing dinner.
Tav vanished just as the sun began to set, stealing an entire bottle of wine and leaving his companions sitting around the fire without him. An hour after he disappeared, Astarion agreed to check on the tiefling himself after some gentle nudging from Karlach and Wyll. After all, he was there, and as everyone noticed, the fight seemed to be the catalyst for Tav’s terrible mood for the rest of the day. Only around the vampire did he appear to cheer up at all.
Astarion follows the clear trail left by Tav when he departed from camp. Tav didn’t go far—Astarion can still hear the group growing a bit rowdier when he finds him. The sound of Karlach’s laughter is unmistakable. Tav sits on a fallen tree, holding a wine bottle loosely in his hand.
“What are you doing here?” Tav questions, not bothering to turn and look back at the vampire he has already caught approaching.
“I was tasked with coming to check on you,” Astarion laments. He watches as Tav tilts the bottle back to take a drink, observing that even though it is nearly empty, his fellow rogue appears alert and unaffected at first glance. “Hmm. Quite a tolerance there, dear.”
Tav snorts, shrugging as he places the bottle on the ground and looks away. “Not the party trick I’m the proudest of.”
“Well—we all have our vices,” Astarion replies, settling beside Tav.
“You don’t mind what the hag… revealed?”
“Is that what this is all about?” Astarion rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t matter—no one cares about that anymore.”
“You know who cared?” Tav snaps, turning to glare. “My family, and just like the hag said, they would rather I be dead.”
“Ah—then it was true.” Astarion looks away from his frustrated companion and clears his throat.
“Unfortunately,” Tav sighs, dropping his head to stare at the dirt again. “A lot of the time, people treat you differently once they find out. I don’t want to be this ‘other’ that is seen as unique or strange.”
“There are many things about you that I find captivating and strange—this is perhaps the least of them. I won’t think of you differently.”
“Alright,” If Astarion has a tell, Tav hasn’t figured it out just yet, so he only nods, ready to move on. “You know, I’ll never understand how that spell figures out what’s in your head. Every thought you push down comes to the surface: all your painful memories. The fears, doubts, self-loathing, and unspoken desires.”
“I certainly don’t desire being leashed any longer. More of a fear or bad memory,” Astarion glowers, scuffing the dirt with the heel of his boot, before he turns back to Tav, propping himself up with an elbow on his knee and his chin resting in his palm. “Did she say anything else true? I recall a comment about you wishing to be leashed by me.”
Tav chokes on his final mouthful of wine, coughing as he tries not to spit it out in the most unappealing way possible. He swallows.
“You—fucking asshole,” he manages, clearing his throat. “I thought we might have a serious conversation.”
“Sure, sure—serious as a funeral. Now, is it true?”
The truth is that Tav endlessly seeks anything to quiet his mind, soothe the heat within him, and scratch the itch he can never scratch, let alone identify.
He can handle his alcohol, as Astarion has already noticed.
There are drugs and smoking when he can get his hands on it, but the short-term benefits never outweigh the long-term consequences. Using them is merely a desperate measure when he can endure the cycle of better to worse to better to worse that it puts him through repeatedly.
And then there’s sex—rough, masochistic encounters that leave him bruised, bloodied, and sometimes both, but most importantly, clear-headed. It completely shuts him off.
Tav thought that after leaving Elturel behind, he’d have the chance to be better. Work on himself—or something. Find new vices that can’t kill him. But now he’s here, afraid for his life every moment of every day, and it doesn’t even matter anymore.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ll let almost anyone rough me up if it gets me out of my head,” Tav admits.
“Fascinating,” Astarion purrs, scrutinizing the tiefling’s steady expression. He breaks into an impish grin as a thought strikes him. “Even… Karlach?”
“Ehh,” Tav raises a hand and makes a noncommittal gesture before continuing, “I see her more as a friend—but she could toss me around, I’m sure.”
“That she could,” Astarion concedes. “Gale?”
“No,” Tav responds immediately, amusing the vampire with his quick reply. “Unless he can do some creative things with the weave and his spells, I’m not interested.”
“‘Creative’ things?” Astarion repeats, one brow raised. “Do tell.”
“Look—I don’t know. What’s the spell called—” Tav lets out an exasperated sound, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently. “The one with the tentacles! Or something imaginative with mirror image.”
“…Tentacles,” Astarion replies, genuinely dumbfounded by the admission.
“Don’t get weird about it. You asked.”
“No shaming here, darling. You’re just full of surprises.” Astarion tilts his head, humming thoughtfully as he imagines Tav suspended in the air by dark, slithering tentacles, straining against his bonds, whimpering as they glide across his skin—
“Who’s next?” Tav breaks the silence, suppressing the urge to ask precisely what the vampire is thinking about.
“Ah—” Astarion clears his throat. “Let’s see. Wyll?”
“It’s a disgrace to admit it, but no,” Tav sighs. “He’s attractive, sure. Charming, but in a ‘prince here to save the princess’ sort of way. Not the type I usually look for.”
“Could Shadowheart be what you usually look for?” Astarion asks, bemused. She’s aloof and cutting with her words—he can imagine her as the domineering type.
“Hmm,” Tav muses, grinning at the vampire. “Definitely. I’m fairly certain she’s a follower of Shar, so she must know how to inflict serious pain.”
“Shar?” Astarion’s questions, surprised by the suggestion. “Truly?”
“You’re not the most observant, sometimes, no matter how much you try to convince everyone else that you are.”
“How dare you! I’ll have you know—”
“Next!” Tav interrupts, leaning closer to Astarion, who seems unaware of the decreasing distance so far, engrossed in their little thought experiment.
“Ugh—fine. Last one, then: Lae’zel.”
“I don’t think she’ll give me a second glance unless I can best her in battle. And we know that isn’t happening anytime soon.”
“But what if you could defeat her?”
Tav smiles mischievously and shrugs, ignoring the question while flicking his tail to tap his companion on the shoulder. “You missed someone.”
Astarion scoffs, rolling his eyes as he responds, “I already asked about myself.”
“Ask again,” Tav murmurs. He shifts, leaning as close as possible without bumping their shoulders together just yet. He slides his hand nearer until their fingertips barely touch.
“Me, then?” Astarion whispers into the narrowing space between them. He places his hand over Tav’s, then grips the tiefling’s forearm, where he idly rubs the delicate skin of his wrist.
“Yes—I’d pick you.” Tav pulls Astarion close by the back of his neck, pausing just before their lips meet. “Good?”
Astarion responds by closing the distance between them. He quickly turns and throws a leg over Tav to crawl into the man’s lap, slipping a hand up his shirt—something he realizes he’s never seen the tiefling without. After every fight, off goes Tav, tending to himself in his tent and wandering away from camp to wash. Astarion, admittedly, has always thought he was shy.
How wrong he was.
“Wait, hold on—” Tav gently tugs Astarion away, but it’s too late; he shouts as he tumbles backward, the air knocked out of him while his head thumps against the ground. Astarion gracefully catches himself as he follows Tav down, bracing to avoid completely crushing the tiefling. Wheezing, Tav manages, “Overeager, aren’t you?”
“Apologies, darling—I suppose I am,” the elf murmurs, hardly giving Tav a moment to recover his breath before he kisses him again, biting his bottom lip. He grins as Tav gasps, squirming beneath him. “Alright?”
“More than,” Tav admits, fisting the fabric of the vampire’s shirt to pull them together again. “Don’t stop.”
Tav whines as a fang splits open his bottom lip—the blood flows into his mouth, and the vampire shoves his tongue in to chase after the taste. Tav follows suit, wrapping his around Astarion’s until the vampire makes a startled sound and breaks away.
He looks down to find Tav licking blood from his mouth with a long, forked tongue.
“Interesting,” Astarion murmurs. “What else can you do with that?”
Tav winks playfully before he pulls Astarion back into the kiss, not dignifying the question with an answer. It’s obvious enough.
The way they crash into each other is nearly frantic, as if the two men have been deprived of touch for ages, and they’re each the first thing the other could dig their claws into. Tav’s lip stings with each press, but he matches Astarion’s aggression regardless until he can hardly breathe.
“Astarion—” Tav eventually pushes at the spawn’s shoulders, taking a ragged breath as he pulls away, chest heaving. “Remember that some of us need oxygen.”
“Is that so?” Astarion wraps a hand lightly around Tav’s throat, forcing his head back to expose his neck. He smiles down at the tiefling when he shudders under the touch, bending over him to press another kiss to his torn lips, leisurely licking into his mouth to find any remaining blood. “Hmm. Perhaps another time.”
“No—now. Fuck me,” the tiefling says suddenly, wrapping his tail around Astarion’s lower back to pull them together. “Just—gods. I don’t know.”
“I think you do know,” Astarion utters into gray flesh, biting at his throat. “You want to forget for a moment, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Tav chokes out. “Don’t you?”
He pauses. He does want to forget—desperately. But fucking into the pretty tiefling beneath him won’t do it. If anything, it will cause new unpleasant memories to form under his skin.
But Tav doesn’t need to know that.
Instead, he asks, “How long have you thought of me like this? Desired me?”
“The first night I saw you drenched in blood under the moonlight. You were terrifying,” Tav replies, squirming as the man pinning him down continues to kiss, nip, and suck bruises into his neck between each word. He groans at a particularly harsh bite. “And today—you were feral. Could have torn me apart.”
“You flatter me, after all,” Astarion replies earnestly. “You’ve been so sweet to me, Tav. You can have whatever you desire—if you ask nicely.”
“Anything, Astarion, please—”
“Anything? Be careful, darling. Who knows what I’ll take from you,” the vampire drawls, sucking one final bruise into Tav’s collarbone before leaning back to kneel between his legs. He swiftly unties the man’s boots, pulling them off roughly and tossing them to the side. He taps the side of one hip before commanding, “Lift.”
Tav obediently raises his hips and steadies himself as Astarion harshly rips at the laces of his pants, undoing them. His trousers and undergarments are yanked over his hips and down his legs at the same time; he carefully helps pull his legs free, and the elf carelessly tosses the garments over his shoulder.
“This,” Astarion tugs at the hum of Tav’s shirt. “Off.”
Astarion pulls his shirt over his head at the same time before he unbuckles his pants and pulls his cock free, semi-hard and leaking just at the sight of Tav already so eager. He holds eye contact with the tiefling while he strokes himself slowly to full hardness until the man curses under his breath at the sight.
“What do you want, love?”
“Don’t—don’t be gentle with me. Don’t be nice,” Tav confesses.
“That’s all?” Astarion teases. “Don’t worry, dear; I can be whatever you need me to be.”
“But what do you want?”
He doesn’t know. Mostly, he wants Tav’s trust—and he’s one step closer to earning it.
He’s only ever what someone else wants. He has countless scripts filed in his mind of roles to play, words to say, and who he must become depending on the situation.
A suave lover who promises all sorts of sweet things and recites his pretty, rehearsed words and lines? Easy. Someone who can just take it, being tossed around and abused? Not fun, but manageable. An insolent brat who can put up a bit of a fight? It's an interesting performance to deliver, at least.
The one who can take control? A rare occurrence but sometimes enjoyable; at least he holds the power. Though it leaves a sour taste—he learned to mistreat others from being beaten down himself, after all.
“To be your tormenter,” Astarion decides, slipping a hand between Tav’s legs. He rubs lightly over his hardening dick before sliding two fingers into him with no resistance. “Already dripping for me? Who knew how needy you could be.”
He wraps his arms around Tav’s thighs and pulls him closer until he’s in the perfect position to press into the man beneath him. With such little preparation, Tav inhales sharply as Astarion pushes further, fucking shallowly as he adjusts to the tightness. A leg wraps around his lower back, forcing him deeper. With an open hand, he slaps Tav’s thigh, who muffles a yelp of pain into a palm, meekly releasing the spawn. He continues his slow, gentle thrusts despite the tiefling begging softly under his breath for more.
“Astarion—please,” Tav mumbles, arching his back until the angle changes just enough that the vampire’s cock hits the sensitive spot that makes him cry out with each thrust, the sounds mostly silenced by Tav biting into his own forearm.
Looking down, Astarion is hit by how striking the tiefling looks at this moment. The two usually impeccable braids that keep his hair in order are coming undone; the silver and blue strands fan out behind his head and tangle around his horns. His muscles flex with each movement, each attempt to adjust himself in a way that gives him more of what he desires, but what Astarion is refusing to provide just yet.
“Gods, Tav,” he groans, increasing his pace, watching as the tiefling takes his cock so entirely, so perfectly. He pauses only to lift Tav’s legs until his ankles rest on his shoulders, then leans forward, bending the man back onto himself.
Tav gasps and throws his head back, desperately grasping for something to hang onto. One hand clutches Astarion’s upper arm, squeezing the defined muscle, while the other lands between his shoulder blades, sharp nails digging into his flesh.
Astarion’s movement slows, but the lines carved into his back are not mentioned. He exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and resumes his pace, gripping whatever expanse of skin he can reach, digging his nails deeper into gray flesh until Tav hisses in pain.
“Touch yourself,” Astarion demands, “I want you to finish on my cock.”
Tav turns to bury his face in Astarion’s neck, muffling the choked, ragged sound escaping him at the request. He yelps as a hand grips a handful of his hair, wrenching him away once more and forcing him to meet the vampire’s searing gaze. There’s an absent, glassy look in his usually sharp eyes that Astarion recognizes all too well.
“Don’t hide—I want to hear you.”
“They’ll—” Tav pants, whimpering, trying to turn his face away and shutting his eyes as if it would stop Astarion from seeing right through him. “They’ll hear us.”
“Yes—our daring leader,” Astarion’s tone is cruel as he releases Tav’s hair and grips a horn. “Reduced to a sniveling mess begging to be ruined.”
“No—I can’t,” Tav pleads, reaching for the hand that restrains him, whimpering as he looks imploringly up at his tormentor. Astarion does not oblige him.
“You can, and you will,” the vampire threatens. He observes Tav’s expression intently; the last thing he needs is to push too far past the tiefling’s limits. He’s satisfied as Tav whispers a soft ‘okay’ under his breath and slides a hand between them.
As a reward, he releases Tav from his grip, leans away, drops his lover’s legs, and pulls out.
“No—don’t stop,” Tav manages through labored breaths, grabbing at Astarion to drag him back, but his hands are pushed away. He closes his eyes in frustration, missing the amused expression on the vampire’s face as his tail twitches subconsciously to hit the ground. “No—”
“On your front,” Astarion demands, tapping Tav’s thigh.
He immediately obeys, scrambling to flip over and lay flat as Astarion adjusts to sit on the back of his thighs. He shivers with every kiss the vampire presses down his spine, inhaling sharply as he feels teeth scrape against his skin. He pushes backward, trying to grind back into Astarion’s cock, but the spawn grabs a hip with one hand while the other is tight around the base of his tail, preventing all movement.
“What do you say?”
“I need you,” Tav murmurs. “Please—”
“I can’t hear you,” Astarion taunts, adjusting himself to tease at the tiefling’s entrance. He finds he wants so badly to push back into him, feel the warmth and tightness again. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt so present; he takes a deep breath, running a hand up and down Tav’s flank, paying attention to the unique bumps and ridges under the skin.
“I—” Tav speaks quietly again, squirming against the punishing grip Astarion has on his tail. “Fuck me, Astarion, please—”
“Pathetic,” Astarion sneers and clutches another chunk of hair, craning his head back. “You don’t want them to hear you? Fine.”
He leans forward, covering Tav’s body with his own. The tiefling yelps as Astarion grabs his wrist and tugs his arm away from his side, pinning it to the ground above his head. He slides his forearm into the narrow space between Tav’s throat and the ground, trapping him in a loose chokehold. Instinctively, a hand claws at the vampire’s arm to pull him away.
“Okay?” Astarion asks, kissing along Tav’s neck. He releases the pinned wrist to place his hand over the tiefling’s, squeezing gently, only applying pressure to the throat when he stops his temporary struggle and relaxes, nodding. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Tav rasps out, barely even a sound. “Please—”
“So good for me,” Astarion murmurs. He rolls his hips until Tav arches his back just enough for the vampire to push into him again in one thrust. The pressure on his throat chokes off Tav’s moan, while Astarion doesn’t bother to stifle his own. So close to the blood rushing under Tav’s skin, he thinks how easy it would be to bite down.
“Ah—gods,” Astarion groans, urging himself to turn away before the need overtakes him. He breathes heavily as he resumes fucking into Tav, whose hindered, repeated pleas of more, harder, please, gods, please— intersperse each thrust.
He releases Tav’s pinned arm to reach under him, brushing his fingers over the tiefling’s clit. Tav whines, purposefully dropping his head to increase the pressure on his throat.
“It’s pitiful,” Astarion manages, each word a struggle as he begins to lose his composure. His hips stutter as he feels Tav tighten around him at each touch. “How desperate you are.”
“Astarion—” Tav whines, his voice hoarse. “So close—”
“Good boy,” the elf utters as his own end quickly approaches. At some point, he shoved his face into Tav’s neck again, grazing the thin flesh with his teeth. It’s all too much: the rushing of blood from the tiefling’s pounding heart, the smell of sweat and sex overwhelming his heightened senses, and the tension coiling in his belly, begging for release. “Let me—"
Astarion hasn’t finished his demand before Tav gasps, “Yes, fuck, yes—” and the first ‘yes’ has barely left Tav’s mouth before the vampire bites down. Heated blood fills him while Tav cries out, the arm around his neck not enough to cut off the sound; he comes, choking out Astarion’s name.
So much blood goes wasted as Astarion fucks harder, the movement preventing him from keeping a secure bite. He growls into the torn flesh when he pushes into Tav one last time, grinding into him until he’s entirely spent.
He releases his victim from his teeth, mouthing at the gray skin just until the blood slows. He feels the lightest tap on his arm and realizes he still has his lover restrained.
“Apologies, darling,” Astarion murmurs as he immediately releases Tav, who whimpers softly as they untangle. He muffles his own pitiful whine into the nape of Tav’s neck as he reluctantly pulls out of the tiefling. “Feeling alright?”
Tav is silent but nods weakly in confirmation, turning to face him.
Astarion notes the unfocused way Tav seems to look through him rather than at him. He’s well and truly gone.
Astarion reclines next to Tav, running a palm along his back. A hand blindly reaches out to him, and he takes it, noting how Tav winces at any movement.
“Roll over—Let me see,” Astarion demands.
Tav quickly flips onto his back at the authoritative tone, trembling slightly. Each breath is unsteady as if he is reminding himself how to breathe.
“Oh dear,” Astarion murmurs, placing a hand beneath the two open wounds that steadily seep more blood. Tav obediently tilts his head to the side as Astarion gently guides him for a better assessment of the damage. “I tore you up.”
Tav feels like a complete mess, so he surely must look like one. The bites on his neck sting, and he can feel the congealing blood. He’s sweaty and aware that his hair is tangled in many places. He’s sore from Astarion fucking into him deep and fast, and they both must reek of sex—trying to be quiet may not have mattered at all if anyone is still up by the time they return.
“’S fine,” Tav mumbles, trembling involuntarily. He draws an arm across his chest and takes measured breaths. It helps but isn’t enough to slow the racing of his heart.
Astarion regards Tav with concern. He rarely makes it this far, as his conquests usually try to leave right after, only to be stopped by his master, or Cazador interrupts the act to claim his victims. He thinks of himself, left alone in an empty bed, cold and shaky, covered in all sorts of mess.
And what does he long for after the more humiliating nights? Something never offered in the first place.
“It’s alright,” Astarion cups Tav’s face in his palm, gently brushing over the shallow scar etched into his skin. He then gathers the pliant man into his arms, wrapping one arm around Tav’s shoulders to pull him close, turning to press his lips to the top of the tiefling’s head. “Better, dear?”
“Mm-hm,” Tav hums, slipping an arm around Astarion’s waist, pausing to splay his hand across the toned muscles before holding the spawn close. He tosses a leg over his companion’s, and the end of his tail loosely wraps around a calf.
Barely a whisper, Astarion catches Tav mumble a soft ‘Thank you.’ He lets out an affirmative sound as a sign of recognition, uncertain how to respond.
He feels uneasy—but not as unsettled as usual as he pulls Tav closer to his chest. The tiefling is so warm. Coupled with his own exhaustion and the satisfaction of release, he loses track of how long they lie there. He thinks briefly that he could trance like this if he allowed himself to let go.
Eventually, Tav begins to stir, slowly regaining his faculties.
“Back with me?” Astarion questions as Tav disentangles himself just enough to stretch his arms out.
“Yeah,” the tiefling mumbles. “Gods—everything hurts.”
“This was a bit unexpected,” Astarion begins, “so, regrettably, I did not bring a potion of healing.”
“Unexpected? Speak for yourself—I’ve been hoping for this for a while.”
Astarion lets out a bark of laughter, unable to contain his genuine amusement as he turns to muffle his continued laughter into Tav’s unkempt hair. He doesn’t notice his companion’s smug grin at having caught him in a candid moment for once.
“Alright,” Tav eventually groans after they settle themselves down again, rolling away from Astarion to sit up. “I’m feeling better now.”
Astarion nods and rises to his feet, extending a hand.
Tav accepts the offer, hauling himself up. He groans in frustration while picking up his clothing and briefly grapples with the garments, pulling his trousers up and wrestling his shirt over his head. He flinches as the fabric drags over the wound on his neck, glaring at Astarion when he snorts in amusement. “You going to help or just watch me suffer?”
“I’m enjoying the suffering,” Astarion replies with a smirk, already dressed after only needing to grab his shirt.
“You enjoyed it earlier, too,” Tav snarks, and the vampire laughs in his usual, rehearsed manner. The tiefling turns away, frowning. It’s not as if he was asking for honesty and genuine affection here—they both wanted something from this. Tav got his. Whether Astarion did as well, he isn’t sure.
Tav tries to run a hand through his hair, confirming his fears about how tangled it has become. As he gathers it into a low ponytail to be dealt with later, he hears Astarion sigh in exasperation as he observes the tiefling’s difficulties.
“Oh, fine. Good gods,” he grumbles, settling back onto the log. He gestures toward the open space between his legs. “Come here—you’re only making it worse.”
“Thanks,” Tav grumbles as he sinks back to the ground, sitting cross-legged with his back to the vampire. His eyes flutter closed as fingers gently run through his unruly hair, unwinding it from around his horns, shaking out bits of dirt, and tugging at knots until they come loose.
Astarion parts Tav's hair down the middle and begins working on one side, sectioning it from his hairline into three parts. After figuring out how to braid the hair around Tav’s horns, he works quickly, gathering more strands until the thick braids lie flat. Stopping at the base of the skull, he extends his hand for Tav to pass him a small band to secure his hair.
“Hey!” he snaps when Tav doesn’t respond, patting his cheek lightly.
Tav flinches away. “Ugh—What?”
“Stay awake.”
“’M sorry,” Tav mumbles, handing off the tie and leaning back into the gentle touch. He drops his head to the side, reclining against Astarion’s thigh as he looks up at him. “Where’d you learn to do this?”
“Braid hair? Like it’s some incredible feat?”
“Oh, fuck off. Just making sure you know what you’re doing.”
Astarion rolls his eyes and nudges Tav until he lowers his head again. He ties off the first braid, leaving the rest of the hair in a short ponytail. It looks better than when the tiefling does it alone, but he keeps that thought to himself. He doesn’t need to become the camp’s resident hairdresser.
“If you simply must know,” he responds, exasperated, as he shifts to the other section of hair. “When my master insisted we dress up for his extravagant parties, we would get ourselves ready. Hopefully, our appearances met his standards. I spent many nights braiding my sisters’ hair.”
“Sorry I ever doubted you,” Tav responds, choosing not to pursue the topic further. Astarion had been snippy enough earlier when confronted about the whole slave issue. “Thank you—again.”
“Are you thanking me for fucking you senseless?”
“No, you prick,” Tav snorts, playfully smacking the vampire’s leg. “For taking care of me afterward. It’s more than most have done.”
Astarion stops at the admittance, hands shaking slightly. He doesn’t notice how hard he’s pulling on Tav’s hair until the tiefling nudges at his leg, speaking his name questioningly.
“Astarion?”
“Apologies, dear,” the spawn exhales, resuming his work as if nothing happened, swiftly tying off the final section. “Perfect, if I do say so myself.”
Tav runs a hand over his scalp and hums in satisfaction, pleased by how orderly the braids feel. He prods at his neck, grimacing as he feels the caked-on blood. “Not sure how we’re going to explain this one.”
“May I?” Astarion bends down to whisper into Tav’s ear.
The tiefling smiles and nods, tilting his head against Astarion’s thigh again, exposing his wound. He sighs as the spawn licks a stripe down his neck, soothing the skin. The more persistent Astarion becomes, the more Tav almost thinks he might bite down again. He realizes he wouldn’t mind—but it would defeat the purpose.
“There—much better.”
His body has begun to tingle again, and Tav feels almost disappointed when Astarion stops. He rises to his feet, turning to take the man’s chin between two fingers. Tilting his head back, he presses their mouths together once more, kissing languidly until he feels heat rising within him again, and he can hardly resist the urge to grab Astarion and pull them both to the ground once more.
“Thanks, love,” Tav drawls, releasing Astarion’s chin to tuck a few unruly curls behind his pointed ear. He grins as his companion blinks in surprise at the pet name turned back to him. “You gave me everything I needed—I owe you one.”
Astarion starts to feel sick, as he always does, when his companion walks away, glancing back to check if the spawn is following. He knows the feeling is hypocritical. To Astarion, Tav is merely another tool, and evidently, he serves the same purpose for him. He supposes that some things will never change.