Archive of Our Own ^beta

Something about Falorin was different that night.

None of the others could quite put their finger on it either. 

He was always a rather positive force among their group. Their own little ray of sunshine, even in spite of the darkness from his past, always looming like a shadow. Try as it may, that stormcloud never lingered long enough to drown out his light, but Fal’s mood was especially cheerful the evening of the tieflings’ party, way beyond his normal.

An interesting development, considering he didn't even have his first drop of wine until after he coaxed Shadowheart into a dance.

Astarion watched them together, how Falorin so easily managed to pry a laugh out of her as they stumbled around in each other's arms. He whispered something to her that made her smirk, her eyes following after him long after he departed.

Not that she was alone in that, it seemed.

Falorin attracted many stares throughout the celebration. He was the center of attention, no doubt about it, their companions fixated on his presence above all else.

It made Astarion seethe.

He took a large swig from the bottle of wine he snagged, and his nose instantly scrunched up in disgust.

The liquid turned bitter as soon as it hit his tongue, soured even more by his mood.

At least he knew that Karlach couldn't get all touchy-feely with him.

Didn't stop the two from making the most of their time together, even as they were forced to keep a careful distance. They both talked with such wide, open gestures. Their smiles overflowed with an unrestrained joy. Bright eyes twinkled beneath the mix of flames and starlight.

Karlach taught him some of that fancy footwork of hers, and she had to hold back from catching him, snorting out a laugh every time he tripped over his own feet.

Astarion had to refrain from rolling his eyes at the display.

After their little show was over, Falorin turned towards Astarion, positively radiant against the cover of night.

Without thinking, Astarion stood up straighter, held his head a bit higher.

He flashed a beckoning glance in Falorin's direction, eyeing him openly up and down.

A dusting of a blush had started to spread from Falorin's freckled cheeks to the tips of his pointed ears. The joy in his smile quickly turned bashful as he ducked his head, tucking some stray hairs back behind his ear.

Oh, this ought to be easy, Astarion thought, but then…

Then, Falorin raised his head up once again, and his expression gentled when he glanced Astarion's way, tender in a way that Astarion could scarcely recall being on the receiving end of before.

He stared at Astarion like a blind man, seeing the wonders that the world had to offer for the very first time.

Fal spared him a small, shy wave, and Astarion had to tighten his grip upon his wine to keep from waving back like some sort of lovesick fool.

Their earlier talk shouldn't change a thing between them. If anything, Astarion should be able to lean more into that past connection for an advantage, if need be. Fal was intended to be a tool to ensure his safety until he could figure out a way to rid himself of Cazador, once and for all. He would be both sword and shield between Astarion and danger, nothing more.

That's what he kept telling himself, at least.

Falorin took a step towards him, and for a split second, that lone step took Astarion's breath away, brimming with anticipation.

This was his moment.

However, before Fal could draw any closer, Bex popped up out of nowhere and threw herself into his arms with her speech cheerful yet slurred. 

Her face instantly contorted as nausea took hold of her.

A sneer curled upon Astarion's lips at the distraction. 

He could barely resist the urge to stomp his foot like a damn child, petulant as he watched the scene unfold before him. Because of course, Falorin —being the good guy that he insisted he wasn't— took his precious time to help Bex right herself.

And once she was settled, he didn't make a beeline for Astarion as the latter expected.

Oh, no. That would have been too predictable, apparently.

Dearest Fal scampered off to speak with Lae'zel, of all people, instead.

Barely a minute had passed before that conversation came to its expected end. Lae'zel eyed the poor man like a slab of meat, so it took little time at all before her blunt declarations of lust sent him scurrying away, somehow even more flustered than he was before.

If Astarion wasn't so annoyed— correction, inconvenienced by this turn of events, then he would applaud her. She scared off that sweet soul in record time, all because she intimidated him through an offer of sex. He had to give it to her.

Ah, well, her loss would mean Astarion's gain.

He could only hope that he would still have a chance to play his own hand by the time Falorin was done gallivanting around.

It was hardly assuring that Fal showed obvious interest while he spoke to Halsin.

Considering he was their latest addition, Falorin already seemed comfortable in his company. While Lae'zel's more upfront approach proved to overwhelm him, Halsin's calm demeanor soothed him enough to let his guard down.

He laughed freely. A playful poke to Halsin's chest transitioned to a stroke of his arm, one which lingered.

And one which Halsin did nothing to discourage.

Then again, could Astarion truly fault Falorin for that? It was Halsin they were speaking of. Who among them didn't want a piece of that tall hunk of an elf?

Didn't mean that Astarion had to cheer for joy over it, though.

Thankfully, Fal’s time with Gale, albeit intimate in its own right, passed by in its usual manner. Their magical moment had come and gone nights prior, both of them now left with these awkward, affectionate talks where they skirted the edge of something more, only to withdraw at the last possible second.

No worry. If Gale wasn't looking to make a move that evening, then Astarion would be more than happy to step in and fill that void.

Astarion's stare trailed after Falorin as he disappeared to the outskirts of their camp, following after Wyll until he was out of sight.

The vultures swooped in then.

Shadowheart, Lae'zel, and Karlach surrounded Astarion from all sides once the coast was clear.

“Hmm…” Unimpressed, Lae'zel watched Astarion with a critical eye, her scrutiny capable of piercing through the planes themselves. “The pale fellow lacks company this evening, does he not?”

“That, he does. My, my, Astarion,” Shadowheart teased, “what have you done to our resident sweetheart?”

Astarion huffed, then plastered on a strained smile.

“Whatever do you mean, my dear?”

“Oh, come off it,” Karlach snorted. “He hasn't talked to you all night!”

“That is most unlike him,” Shadowheart agreed.

“Which brings about our next question, ‘ why?’” Lae'zel continued, rubbing salt in the wound.

Astarion gritted his teeth.

The thought of how their blood would taste fluttered through his mind again for a brief instant, there and gone in the blink of an eye.

Rather than entertain thoughts of ripping out their throats, he focused instead on the thought of tasting Falorin again.

It emboldened him to rise up to the challenge.

Slowly, he unclenched his jaw. With a scoff, he appraised the others for a long, drawn-out moment, then turned his attention to more important matters, namely his nails.

“You three are positively delightful,” Astarion said, “but it is clear why he hasn't spoken to me yet.” He rested a hand upon his chest and gave them a sort of half-shrug, seemingly unbothered. “He's simply saving the best for last, my dears.”

“Is that so?” Lae'zel asked, a brow raised at him while Karlach let out a loud “Ha!” in the background. “Tch, I thought you to be many things, Astarion, but I never thought you to be the delusional type.”

“Right?!” Karlach exclaimed. She jabbed a thumb in his direction. “He's a real hoot, isn't he?”

“Haha…” Astarion deadpanned, dragging out each syllable. “Say what you will, but just watch.” He met each of their eyes, hiding any uncertainty behind an air of arrogance. “He'll be mine by the end of the night.”

“So long as you don't break his heart, fangs,” Karlach said, a hint of warning underlying her words, “then we won't have any problems.”

“Do be careful, though,” Shadowheart added. She sized him up, taking a sip of her wine with a self-satisfied sigh. “You're not the only one in camp looking to pursue him.”

“You don't say,” Astarion retorted with a bite to his voice.

Shadowheart chuckled, “Best of luck.” She raised her glass to him. Then, she paused, tapping a lone finger against her drink while she turned her thoughts around in her mind in consideration. “Although, if you're so confident in your ability to sweep him off his feet, why not partake in a friendly wager?”

“Yeah,” Karlach said, “put your gold where your mouth is!”

“Wait, are we really betting behind his back about who he will spend the night with?” Astarion asked. “That doesn't seem a bit questionable to anyone?”

“Are you saying you won't?” Lae'zel responded.

“And miss out?” Astarion snickered, glancing off towards where he last saw Falorin. There was still no sign of him just yet. “Darling, don't be ridiculous. I'm all the way in. Now, how much are we talking here?”

“Ten pieces?” Shadowheart offered.

“Make it twenty.”

“Nah, make it fifty at the least,” Karlach countered, “or I'm out.”

“Feeling confident, are you?” Shadowheart asked.

Astarion didn't even hesitate.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Falorin slink his way back into the party.

Astarion couldn't let them see him falter.

“Alright,” he interrupted, “I'm in.”

As soon as the others followed the direction of his gaze, Falorin caught sight of them, all huddled together, and flashed their group a charming smile.

He stopped to applaud Rolan's efforts for his latest spell, even though it was basically child's play compared to some of the magic that Falorin was capable of.

“That elf,” Karlach huffed, albeit affectionately. “He knows exactly what he's doing.”

“You think so?” Astarion asked.

The responses were immediate.

“Mm-hmm…”

“Uh-huh.”

“Of course.”

All of them watched while he strolled over to Alfira with an otherworldly grace. Each step he took was light, as if he was floating on air.

They exchanged cheerful words for a moment before Alfira nodded quickly in excitement, relinquishing her lute to him.

When he started to pluck a few strings, their little gathering watched with bated breath.

“Wait,” Karlach said, skeptical yet amused, “is he—”

“Well, well, we get drinks and a show?” Shadowheart watched on with keen interest. “Now, this, I have to see.”

“I was not aware that wizards here knew how to do much else,” Lae'zel said, “other than talk too much for their own good.”

Astarion surely had a witty reply at the ready, but the words died on his tongue the instant he heard Falorin's voice rise with the night, sweet as honey.

His lyrics were woven together in Elvish.

The raw, mystical quality of his voice gave glimpses into the Feywild that their ancestors hailed from.

Speechless, Astarion couldn't take his eyes off of him.

And to his surprise, Falorin didn't dare take his off of Astarion.

The song was a jovial tune —one fit for dancing at any party, truth be told— but there was an underlying wistfulness for those who listened close. It spoke of past adventures and fortunes gained, but above all else, it was a—

Shadowheart gave a playful roll of her eyes.

She leaned in to ask Astarion, “Are you getting all of this?”, able to pick up bits and pieces on her own.

He nodded, raising a brow at her in question.

She snorted.

“Ugh, leave it to one of the camp romantics to sing a song about love, of all things.”

“If he sings of love, then why is he constantly staring at Astarion?” Lae'zel taunted.

“Fix your eyesight,” Karlach joked, making kissy noises at them. “Clearly, he is staring at me.”

She pointed to herself.

“A wiser choice,” Lae'zel allowed.

“Thank you for your endless support as always,” Astarion deadpanned. “It truly knows no bounds.”

“If I am to bet on anyone to win our wager besides myself,” Lae'zel scoffed, “then the obvious candidate is Karlach.”

“So you say,” Astarion drawled, “but don't look now, here comes our delectable wizard himself.”

Sure enough, he made his way over to them through song and dance.

Only, once he stood before them, he bowed to them in greeting, reaching out a hand in Astarion's direction.

Stunned, Astarion took a moment to process the silent request.

Of course, imagine Astarion's surprise when he lifted his hand to place it into Falorin's, but Falorin turned to Shadowheart instead at the last possible second. She offered him her hand with a laugh, which he took without hesitation, pressing a lingering kiss upon the back of it.

As soon as they parted, he continued his song, sparing a moment to flash Astarion a wink, followed by a daring smirk.

Dropping his hand back to his side, Astarion glared.

“Yeah,” Karlach snickered, “our wizard dearest knows exactly what he's doing.”

So it seemed.

Rather than reply to Karlach, Astarion hissed at Fal, “You little tease.”

Laughing, Falorin twirled away until he made himself dizzy enough to stumble over his feet.

Clumsy antics aside, he took it all in stride, letting nothing and no one ruin his good mood that evening.

Astarion watched on, wondering if he would ever get to feel so carefree again.

With a wave of his hand, Falorin ended his song to a round of applause, lighting up the night sky with his magic.

After he returned the lute to Alfira, he made a beeline for Astarion.

The ladies were quick to make themselves scarce, way too smug for their own good.

Lae'zel muttered something about finding Wyll while she departed, Karlach strolled off with an all-too-innocent whistle, and Shadowheart supposedly left in search of better wine.

At least the last part was understandable.

Astarion took another swig from his own bottle with a grimace, the taste lingering on his palate.

He crossed his arms over his chest the instant Falorin approached, his nose tilted up into the air.

“Hmph,” Astarion grumbled, placing a hand over his heart. "Oh, my, is the Falorin Sungleam actually coming to speak to little ole me? Will he finally grace me with his presence, or should I expect another musical number first?” Astarion eyed him up and down with a slight curl of his lips. “Didn't realize we had a bard staying with us all this time.”

Falorin chuckled.

“Well, I might have been known to party with the best of them in the past.”

“I would've paid to see that.” Astarion glanced around, bottle still in hand. “Might have been an improvement compared to this lot.” Now that he found himself talking to Fal, he couldn't stop. “You know, I never pictured myself as a hero. Never thought I'd be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I'm here…”

This time, he took a long drink.

His face scrunched up in disdain. Because of the taste, because of the party, because of the acts of heroism…

“I hate it,” he announced. “This is awful.”

“Aw, come on,” Falorin teased, “It's not the end of the world. You did a good thing.” He reached out and gave a playful poke to his chest. “Now, suck it up and enjoy yourself.”

“Enjoy myself?!” Astarion exclaimed, incredulous. First, he pointed to his head. “There's a worm in my brain, hunters on my trail!” He gestured out to the forests surrounding their camp, then waved a hand towards his bottle. “And all I've got to drink is wine that tastes like vinegar.”

“Oh, it can't be that bad,” Falorin said. When he reached for his wine, Astarion relinquished it without a fuss. He watched, smug, as Falorin winced at the first sip. “Okay, yes, it can be that bad.”

Unimpressed, Astarion gave him a look that clearly said, I told you so.

With a sheepish grin, Falorin set the wine aside on the ground.

“Enough about that, though. My point still stands,” he insisted, easing closer with his hands behind his back. A sudden bashfulness took over. He glanced up at Astarion from underneath his eyelashes, mismatched eyes sparkling like pearlescent gems in the moonlight. “You deserve a night to relax.”

He didn't think before the pads of his fingers sought the outline of Astarion's cheeks.

Before he could close the distance entirely, Astarion flinched away from his touch, causing clarity to hit Fal like a slap to the face.

He instantly shuffled away, fiddling with his fingers while he bowed his head, his face shielded by the curtain of his hair.

“I—” He choked on his apology, forcing the words free. “I am so, so sorry.” Desperate to try and explain away his actions, he rambled on. “I don't know what came over me. It must have been the wine. I should—” He paused to catch his breath. “I should—”

He tried to withdraw, but Astarion caught his hand before he could leave.

“Don't go,” Astarion whispered, surprising even himself with the request. “You simply caught me off guard, is all.” He rushed to compose himself. Clearing his throat, he reeled Falorin back into his arms, holding him close. “Besides, do you honestly think that I would let you run off so soon?”

It was all too easy to fall back into old habits.

For a brief second, he recalled a young, blonde elf, hanging onto his every word in a dark corner of Cazador's library.

How close he had been to having him back then, had Lord Verwin not intervened.

It was unnerving in a way. To see that very same elf, alive and well —or as well as could be expected, given their circumstances— over a hundred years later.

It felt strange to still be on the receiving end of his attention.

Astarion steeled his heart against their shared past, no matter how brief.

“You certainly took your sweet time, finding your way back to me,” he scolded, his wording careful, intent on unearthing feelings long buried. “Now that I have you within reach again, I don't think I'm quite ready to share.”

Falorin swallowed thickly.

“Astarion,” he gasped, pretending to be downright scandalized, even as he pressed himself flush against him. “Is that a hint of jealousy that I hear?”

“Hardly,” Astarion snorted, denying it all too quickly.

“Well, that's too bad.” Falorin's pout could put even Astarion's to shame in terms of theatrics. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders, every curve of their bodies aligned together. “I would've enjoyed seeing that, Mr. Big Bad Vampire.”

Delicate fingers stroked through curls as white as snow.

Seemed that bashfulness was quick to turn to confidence with some encouragement.

For a while, Astarion forgot where they even were.

“You seem rather excitable tonight,” he noted.

“Can you blame me?” Fal asked. “This is the first party I've been to in ages; and compared to all the fancy balls and grand masquerades I've attended, it feels so genuine. You might not like being the hero all that much, but this makes it feel like we really made an impact.” Falorin pulled him closer in his excitement, a glimmer of sunlight in the midst of night. “Our actions made others happy , and I must admit, I have had a lot of fun so far.”

The pure elation with which he spoke made Astarion stew in a weird mixture of annoyance and delight.

How easily joy seemed to come to him.

It wasn't fair. 

Astarion couldn't help but wonder, Why him and not me? 

When would it be his turn to experience his own happiness with such abandon?

Then again, there was a small, teensy-weensy problem that confused Astarion to the core.

Why did it hurt so much to see Falorin's smile wane?

Why did his happiness make Astarion feel like he was floating on air?

Oh, how he wanted to loathe him for worming his way into his thoughts.

But he couldn't, not even if he tried.

Astarion leaned in, brushed his lips along sensitive ears.

“Why let the fun end there?” he purred, thrilled when the very tip of his ear gave a slight twitch in response. A shiver shot through Falorin, leaving him trembling in Astarion's arms. “You know, we could always make our own entertainment, darling. Get a little closer, so to speak.”

Falorin let out a breathless chuckle.

“Hmm…” Trailing off, he hummed in contemplation, pretending to think it over. “Maybe.” He was quick to amend his answer. “If you say ‘please.’”

Snorting, Astarion pulled back to look him in the eyes, finding himself on the receiving end of a mischievous smirk.

Caught off guard, Astarion asked, “What?”, even as he retained a certain note of playfulness to his voice.

Falorin stroked his hands down Astarion's chest.

He glanced down in longing, closing the distance until their lips were but a hair’s width apart.

Astarion's head started spinning. Soon enough, it turned into a full whirlwind of emotion.

He couldn't focus on anything else but the warmth radiating off of Fal's body.

He wondered how his blood would taste in his excitement, his arousal.

Falorin stared at him knowingly, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip to tease at the skin before releasing it.

Astarion watched, seized by the sudden need to taste.

“You heard me,” Falorin told him. He even had the audacity to brush brightly-colored hair back behind his ear. With his neck openly exposed, he trailed his fingers down the length of his throat, stopping only when his hand came to rest upon the center of his chest. “Say ‘please.’”

Damn it all if that little trick of his didn't work.

Even Astarion had to admit that he was impressed.

Still, he refused to waver as he said, “Please.”

Falorin rewarded him with a small clap as he put some distance between them.

“Good boy,” he praised. “Now, see, was that so hard?”

“Dreadfully so, you cheeky little pup,” Astarion said, albeit with amusement to spare. “I'll see you later then?”

“Why wait?” Fal countered.

“Heh, eager, are you?” Astarion asked. “Dying of anticipation? Well, understandable, really. I am quite the catch.”

“Very much so.” Falorin nodded in agreement, feeding into his ego. “Tis true.” He released a dreamy, dramatic sigh, fanning himself with his hand. “Surely, I cannot survive another night without knowing the sweet ecstasy of your dark embrace.”

Astarion snickered.

“Consider yourself fortunate. Many have sought my attention, yet few have held it.”

“How lucky I am, indeed.” Falorin grinned. “Still, there is no need to be all cloak-and-dagger about us leaving. From what some of the others have told me, we're apparently the camp's worst-kept secret.”

Really?

“That's news to me.” Astarion narrowed his eyes at him, wondering what exactly had been said.

Falorin raised his hands in surrender.

“Hey, it is to me as well, but perhaps there would be no harm in us taking the opportunity to slip away? I mean, not unless you would prefer greater discretion.” Fal gave the area a quick once-over, everyone else too caught up in their own laughter and merriment to pay them any mind, many with drinks sloshing about. “I know that I've done more than my fair share of mingling for the evening. Hopefully, nobody will miss us too much.”

Astarion knew better than to refuse. He wouldn't give Falorin reason to doubt his intentions.

“Even if they do, they will have to simply make do without,” Astarion said. “I refuse to be rushed when it comes to you.” 

“Didn't take you as one to play with your food.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Astarion muttered, but he was quick to bolster his smile again, slightly strained around the edges. “Now, if you insist on making our great escape sooner rather than later, then let's get going, shall we?” A hint of dread sat heavy in the pit of his stomach, threatening to take root, but Astarion shoved it aside for the time being. “I can't wait to have you all to myself, and I know just the place where no one will interrupt us.”

“You know,” Fal chuckled, “anyone else might think that sounds a tad bit suspicious.”

“Good thing you're not just ‘anyone else’ then,” Astarion replied without missing a beat. “You are so much more than that.”

Falorin's breathing hitched, but Astarion was not done yet.

His next words drove the final nail in Fal's coffin.

“You can trust me,” he promised, sweet lies dripping from his lips like honey. “I would never hurt you.”

Falorin opened his mouth, then closed it, staring at Astarion as if he was nothing less than a miracle made flesh, taken aback by the heat in his voice.

“You—” He trailed off, at a loss for words. “Well, then.” Fal cleared his throat. “You are a master of stealth, are you not?” He waved a hand out towards the forest surrounding them. “Lead the way, my dear.”

As if Astarion needed any more encouragement than that.

Together, they snuck away from camp, venturing into the thick of night.

Slowly but surely, sounds of revelry and flickers of torchlight faded away until they disappeared entirely. The farther they wandered, the brighter the moon glowed in all its glory, trickling down through the trees, their branches outstretched towards the sky, swaying to and fro in a graceful dance.

Wildlife moved about both above and below. Insects chirped their nocturnal songs in a lively performance.

Until they crossed their path, that is, then all seemed to go deathly silent.

Nature itself seemed to hold its breath in their presence.

Summoning small, colorful wisps of light to offset the sudden eeriness that lingered in the air, Falorin muttered, “Was it something we said?”

“Ha!” Astarion laughed. “As if we need to say anything. Just look at us!” He threw his hands out as they strolled forward, his head held high while he presented himself to the surrounding darkness. “Two glorious monsters, lurking in the wilderness at night. They write scary stories about people like us.” Glee filled his voice until it threatened to spill over. “We're the stuff of nightmares.”

“Very funny.” Falorin let out an amused breath that blew several strands of hair out of his face. “You're lucky that my particular appetites don't allow me to feast on the undead…” He paused, tapping a finger against his chin with a playful hum. “Or do they? Could always find out.”

“Don't tempt me with a good time, darling.”

When Astarion's hands fell back to his sides, Falorin rushed forward to keep step with him.

Their fingers brushed, and Astarion jolted, startled by the sudden, tender touch.

Falorin quickly averted his gaze away from him as soon as Astarion glanced his way, but Fal braced himself against his uncertainty, forcing himself to meet Astarion's eyes yet again.

“In any case,” he said, “I think that these two scary monsters in particular deserve to enjoy themselves for once.”

Their fingers continued to graze until Falorin slipped his between Astarion's, holding his hand with a gentle sway of their arms.

Astarion blinked owlishly between them, his brow furrowed in disbelief.

It was hard to comprehend a touch that brought no pain or discomfort, a touch so simple that it bore no ulterior motives.

A touch that he liked.

In spite of himself, Astarion's expression softened, as did his voice.

“I could get behind that,” he whispered, but he quickly realized that he was getting too involved in his own act. He needed to distance himself. Shaking his head, he sought to clear his mind. He needed to focus, choosing to make light of the situation and shift their attention elsewhere instead. “Ah, yes, and just so you're aware, I'm now a richer elf in part thanks to you.”

“What do you—” Falorin narrowed his eyes at him in question, but it didn't take long for him to put two and two together. “Oh, Astarion, you ass!” He nudged his shoulder with his own, sending them both stumbling with a laugh. “I'm not going to say that I'm surprised you and the others made a bet about us sleeping together—”

“Not that we can sleep to begin with,” Astarion teased. “Besides, who said you'd be getting any rest tonight?”

Falorin ignored him, continuing on as if he hadn't been interrupted to begin with, “—because that's exactly the type of thing you all would do unattended, but I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask for a cut of your winnings, my dear.”

“A cut?” Astarion scoffed, raising a brow at him. “For what?”

“For my participation, of course,” Falorin giggled, “in securing your victory!”

“Absolutely not.”

Disappointed, Falorin pouted at him in a huff, going so far as to even stomp his foot.

“It's so unfair.”

“Unfair?!” Astarion gaped. “Falorin, sweetheart, you already keep the majority of our findings as is. What more could you possibly want?”

With a roll of his eyes, Falorin explained, “I keep our findings because, out of everyone in our group, I ran a successful business for years, and —full offense meant to the rest of you— I'm not about to leave matters of finances and rationing in any of your hands during a crisis situation.”

Astarion opened his mouth, then promptly shut it.

“You know what.” He shrugged in acceptance. “You have a point. I won't even waste my breath arguing with that.”

“Smart man.”

“And just for that, you're only getting twenty percent for your cut.”

“Twenty?!”

“Not good enough for you? Alright then, let's make it ten.” Astarion smirked. “Take it or leave it.”

“I never knew I traveled with a man so generous,” Falorin breathed.

“Yes, I know,” Astarion sighed. “I am such a giving individual. I move myself to tears sometimes.”

“So humble, too.”

They trailed off into a chuckle.

For a while, they simply fell silent, the quiet now comfortable as they walked hand-in-hand, the rustle of their footsteps being the only sound to accompany them on their journey.

By the time they reached the clearing, Falorin's wisps had disappeared into thin air, leaving only the silvery strands of moonlight to shine down on them from above.

They stopped once they reached the center of the grassy area. While Falorin stared up at the night sky, Astarion stared at him.

Eventually, Fal turned to look at him, his expression thoughtful, wistful even.

He squeezed Astarion's hand, holding on tighter than ever.

“You know,” he said, “sometimes, I dream what could have happened that night, had we just run away from it all.”

Astarion's chest tightened at the thought.

“Oh, that's easy,” he replied, his voice deceptively light and chipper, despite the sneer curling at his lips. “Were you still alive and with me, then Cazador would have forced me to drag you back, kicking and screaming if I must, and he would have punished me severely in the aftermath.” Vague, foggy recollections stirred at the back of his mind. He didn't dare delve deeper into those memories, his posture wilting like an old, decaying flower. “It wouldn't have been the first time something like that happened.”

Falorin watched him, pained by how much Astarion had suffered.

There was almost a feeling of true understanding that surfaced between them, more so empathy than sympathy.

Fal released his hand to cup his cheeks instead, slowly tracing the lines of his face, and Astarion was helpless but to answer his call, leaning further into that sweet touch of his.

“You misunderstood me,” Falorin murmured. “Dreams do not bend to the rules of reality. I am well aware there was no happy ending awaiting us in such a circumstance, but can we not indulge in the fantasy? Even just a little bit?”

“Why?” Astarion countered. “It's not like it would change anything.”

“It's not supposed to.” Falorin smoothed his fingertips along the shadows underneath his eyes. “Look, I might not be much of a spiritual or religious man, but I do believe that we found each other again for a reason.”

Sparkling, red eyes fluttered shut when Fal caressed his cheeks with a feather-light touch, Astarion's lips parted in awe.

“Such a romantic,” he said, faking a grumble for the sake of it. “Hmph. Fine. Paint your pretty picture, if you must.”

For a brief second, their minds brushed, and Astarion's eyes shot open, instantly wary.

Not that he had any need to be, it seemed.

Rather than push against his boundaries, Falorin's mind opened up to him without second thought, layer upon layer parting to give way to his deepest desires.

The barrier between them was so thin, Astarion could slip beyond it with only a thought.

“Go on,” Falorin encouraged, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “I want you to see. See the fantasies that have fueled my trance these past few nights.”

Unable to resist, Astarion was drawn in.

His tadpole communed with Falorin's in a purr, and he was transported back in time.

The sensation was quite disorienting, seeing himself from another's eyes, but he forced himself to adjust.

The forests around them faded away and instead gave way to the library inside of Cazador's palace, bursting with ancient, forbidden knowledge.

They were both dressed for the occasion, wearing the same outfits they wore the night they first met. That masquerade was a rare occurrence when even the spawn were afforded something more luxurious than mere scraps, but that was because they were supposed to blend in, to do their duties as expected of them.

Falorin pulled him away from such thoughts and brought him back into the fantasy.

“Can you imagine it?” he wondered. In the place of the warm, pink hair Astarion had grown used to, strands of golden blonde had returned. Scars had healed. Mismatched eyes, both blue and green, reverted back to a matching emerald pair. It was strange to see Falorin as the young elf who once flitted in and out of his life in the blink of an eye. “The music could still be heard in the distance. I would have taken off your mask.”

He did exactly that, crafting the illusion of what could have been.

“And you would have taken off mine.”

Caught up in the moment, Astarion followed his lead, his body filled with an unexpected tingle that ran from his head to his toes.

He felt like he was floating.

“Go on,” Astarion said.

“There would have been no interruptions, and we would have kissed,” Falorin continued. They both leaned in but stopped shy of pressing their lips together. “We would have slipped away before anyone had even noticed we were missing.”

The scene swirled around them, transforming into the bustling streets of the Lower City, then the outskirts of Rivington. Farther and farther, they journeyed in his mind's eye.

“We would've traveled all across Faerûn together. To worlds and planes well beyond our little corner of the multiverse.” He paused to catch his breath. “To places where no one would know us, where no one could hurt us.”

Swallowing thickly, Astarion feared that, if he got lost any further within the fantasy, then he would never want to leave.

Although his tadpole squirmed restlessly in response, Astarion withdrew before it was too late.

The fantasy melted away, and their starlit reality took its place.

Astarion needed to regain control of the situation, and fast.

While Fal worked through any lingering fuzziness in his head, working to regain his senses, Astarion commented, “What a vivid imagination you have, my dear. You know, I might not have immediately remembered you when you first found me after the nautiloid crashed, but I did feel… drawn to you. As if we had some sort of unspoken connection.”

Falorin quickly blinked away any remaining bleariness, staring up at him, skeptical yet oh-so-hopeful.

“You did?”

“Of course, and you have haunted both my waking and resting hours alike,” he said. “I have been waiting for this since the moment I laid eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”

“What are you waiting for then?” Falorin teased. “You have me. All of me.” He reached out to take Astarion's hand, bringing it up to place his palm over the center of his chest. His heart raced for him. “I am yours.”

It was slightly intimidating, Astarion must admit.

The ease with which he said it, the sincerity in which he spoke, caught him off guard.

All of those pretty, scripted words he had prepared died on his tongue.

He fumbled to recover something at the very least.

“Tell me then,” Astarion purred, “do you truly want me? To be with me tonight?” He lowered his voice, even as his skin crawled. “To lose yourself in me?”

“I—” Stammering, Falorin stared at him like a frightened deer, stopped in its tracks. “I don't know.”

“You… don't know?” Astarion asked, his head cocked to the side, eyes narrowed in confusion.

When he tried to pull his hand away, Falorin let him, suddenly deep in thought.

“Astarion, listen, it has been thirty years since I have been free, and I have never trusted anyone to be that close to me again.” With his eyes trained upon the ground, Falorin shrugged, fiddling with his fingers. “Until now.”

Realization hit Astarion like a punch to the gut.

This was more than just some random night to Falorin. It meant more, way more, than that to him.

Already, Astarion's plan was working, but why didn't it feel like much of a victory?

For Falorin to trust him…

Such a bad decision on his part, truly.

It would only end in heartbreak.

It always did, but Astarion couldn't stop himself, even as his stomach twisted itself into knots.

He couldn't figure out why.

“I don't even know if I can still enjoy sex,” Falorin admitted. Scoffing, he shook his head in defeat. “Maybe I'm just too broken.”

“You are not broken,” Astarion snapped, surprising even himself with the intensity woven into each word.

Falorin didn't know how to process that, how he spoke with such heat and bite.

Taken aback, he tried to explain, “I—I don't know. Sometimes, I just feel that way.”

“Well, you're not,” Astarion insisted, scowling at him for even thinking it. “Bastards like them don't get the pleasure of ‘breaking’ us . You survived. You are surviving, and you are fighting every day to get that chance to truly live again. Don't ever doubt that.”

He didn't know where all the encouragement even came from. Maybe it was because he saw a little of himself in Fal, but he couldn't possibly let him continue on with that defeatist attitude without saying something.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” Falorin listened attentively, refusing to interrupt. “I see a strong, beautiful, darling elf of great power whose kindness knows no bounds.” His voice cracked, because no matter what, Astarion knew that he was destined to hurt that kind, gentle soul of his, one way or another. “Still as sweet and breathtaking as the first day I met him.”

Lies or truth? Astarion didn't even need to ask.

Falorin focused on his breathing, letting what he said sink in.

Then, he took a step towards him.

“I think that I would like to kiss you now,” he whispered. Tugging nervously at a section of his hair, Falorin braced himself, forcing himself to look up and meet Astarion's eyes as he spoke. “May I kiss you?”

Astarion released a watery laugh.

The fact that he asked at all meant the world to him.

Many in his past felt they didn't have to, but it made all the difference that Falorin did.

“You may,” Astarion allowed, but it was him who made the first move.

Taking him by the hips, Astarion drew Falorin flush against him.

He wasted no time in closing the distance between their lips.

Falorin whimpered into his mouth. 

He eagerly wrapped his arms around him, tangling a hand into Astarion's pristine curls.

What started off as a soft, tentative kiss quickly grew more impassioned by the second. Greedy hands roamed, tugging at the clothes in their way.

Before Astarion knew it, Falorin was untucking his shirt from his pants, easing the fabric up only so that a sliver of skin was exposed to his curious touch.

Astarion shivered in spite of himself.

Even as uncertainty plagued his mind, he forced his arms above his head, assisting Falorin in ridding him of his shirt.

In his excitement, Fal only allowed the interruption to go on for as long as necessary to toss the fabric aside. He all but threw himself back into Astarion's arms, sealing their lips into a kiss once more.

The way his back was bared for all the world to see caused Astarion to wrinkle his nose, but he set aside any discomforts for now.

Or tried to, at least.

Echoes of pain radiated throughout each and every scar, but he ignored them, distanced his mind from past torments.

He focused on Falorin instead, took the lead when he saw the opportunity.

One swipe of his tongue across his bottom lip left Fal trembling.

He parted his lips around a gasp of Astarion's name, only for the sound to cut off into a moan the instant Astarion's tongue brushed against his. They explored each other’s mouths with abandon, deepening their kiss until every breath was shared and every touch lingered.

Astarion undid the laces of Falorin's shirt, then helped slowly ease it off, exposing the full expanse of his chest.

Sun-kissed skin sported a constellation of freckles that captured Astarion's attention more than any star ever could. A variety of scars were spread out unevenly across his slim frame, some deeper than others, noticeably so along the underside of his pecs.

Black ink stood out against the backdrop of tanned skin, forming wavy vines, covered in tiny leaves, that followed the contours of his body.

Astarion barely had time to drink in the view of him before Falorin chased after his lips for another kiss.

His shirt was soon forgotten, tossed aside onto the ground alongside Astarion's.

Each peck remained brief, albeit passionate.

Both of them smiled against each other’s lips.

Eventually, Astarion pulled away, just enough to rest his forehead against Falorin's as they struggled to catch their breath.

Not that they needed to, but every kiss made them feel alive again in every sense of the word.

Falorin stared up at him as if, in that moment, he was the center of his universe.

“I want you,” Falorin stated, watching his hands stroke down the length of Astarion's chest. “I want to try and be with you, but you…” Shaking his head, he trailed off to watch every minute shift of Astarion's expression, the full extent of his scrutiny focused only on him. “What do you want?”

The answer came all too easily to him, “You.”

Lie or truth? It was hard to tell.

Every second he spent with Falorin, Astarion watched the line between fact and fiction start to blur even more, no longer sharp and distinct from one another.

Whichever it was, his answer must have been genuine enough for Falorin, whose search for deceit apparently drew up blank.

If only he knew.

Gods, knowing what this meant to him, some part of Astarion wanted Falorin to feel good.

If either of them deserved to experience true pleasure that night, then it was him.

Before Astarion could react, Falorin pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, lingering there before pressing another to his cheek, then his jaw…

A single kiss to the curve of his throat took his breath away. He arched his neck out on display for him, and each kiss grew more confident, sucking and nipping at pale skin, soothing it over with his tongue.

His body reacted in more ways than one, of course, but he forced back the bile burning at the back of his throat.

It was so confusing. A warring sensation of disgust and desire twisted inside him unlike any other, leaving his head spinning out of control.

Falorin stopped when his exploration led him down to the center of Astarion's chest, beaming up at him when his lips brushed over where his dead, unbeating heart remained.

Tender words spoken in Elvish, a secret for their ears and theirs alone.

“My heart,” he said.

Astarion worried for a second that such devotion would breathe life into it once more, willing it to pound in excitement.

As Falorin forged a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his chest, Astarion managed a shaky laugh.

“You don't have to be so gentle , you know.”

In fact, it made it harder to focus, harder to distance himself.

Falorin was one of a few who stood out, though.

And what a darling man he was, both back then and right now. Almost like—

Astarion's mind severed the thought before he could linger on it too long.

Now wasn't the time.

“Do we not deserve a soft, gentle touch more than anyone?” he questioned, to which Astarion had no answer. Down on his knees before him, Falorin nuzzled his face against his hip, inhaling Astarion's perfumed scent, mixed in with a tinge of sweat from their journeys. “I want to spoil you. To worship every inch of you.” He took the waistband of Astarion's pants in hand, all of his attention trained on him. “I want to taste you.”

“Far be it from me to stop you then,” Astarion murmured.

His hand hovered in the air for a moment, uncertain, but Falorin wasn't the slightest bit deterred.

He took Astarion's hand and rested it on the back of his head with a firm squeeze.

“This is fine,” Falorin assured him. “Just be careful. Let me take this at my own pace.”

Nodding, Astarion tangled his fingers in his hair, nothing more than a solid weight that followed his lead.

Falorin took the time to ease his pants down over his hips, Astarion shivering when the night air brushed against his bare skin.

In his excitement, Falorin didn't even bother to get his pants down below his knees, eager to please.

The second his mouth was on him, Astarion let his head fall back. He stared up at the stars above, then slowly let his eyes slide closed, hoping to seal off as much of his expression as he possibly could.

Mindless praise instinctively spewed from his lips.

There was no thought to it, no higher process at work.

It was all second nature. Routine.

A script that had been read over and over again for the past two hundred years.

He was so beautiful, so perfect. 

So good for him.

Even if it was rare for the majority of the attention to stay focused on Astarion, it didn't make the experience any less sickening.

Ghostly hands of past victims grabbed and groped, ever present.

Astarion let his body respond as it saw fit, traitorous pleasure coursing through him as Falorin's mouth stretched out around him.

A grunt here, a moan there. It was all the same to him.

Yet everything about it felt different.

Astarion couldn't wait for it to be over.

Once he knew he was close, the heat inside him building to a peak, Astarion gently tugged at Fal's hair and pried him off.

Falorin frowned in confusion.

“Oh, don't pout, darling. You're doing a little too well, and I didn't want our fun to end too soon,” Astarion said, his latter statement more of a bold-faced lie.

While Astarion awkwardly stumbled his way out of the rest of his clothes, Falorin toed off his sandals, allowing his pants to pool at his feet before carefully stepping out of them. He kicked his clothes aside, finding their way next to Astarion's.

Falorin stood there, shifting in place, not a single layer left between them.

Astarion noted the continuation of freckles and tattoos that he had come to expect, but what he hadn't anticipated were the scars.

Two layers of runes were carved over his hips, thighs, and pelvis. The first layer was pristine. Each line was sharp, and every curve was precise. Those scars were clean, purposeful, but the second layer above that only consisted of two runes instead —large, jagged, and deep— as if done in defiance of the first set.

Astarion might not know the original purpose of such magic, although he could surely take a guess, but he knew the workings of a decent counterspell when he saw one.

Rather than question him on it, Astarion lingered on the full image of him, savoring the sight of the one and only Falorin Sungleam.

He smiled reassuringly at him.

Astarion whispered, “You're beautiful.”

Not so much mindless praise in this instance, but more of a genuine compliment.

Falorin melted into a puddle where he stood.

And when Astarion offered his hand to him, he took it.

In a blur, Astarion twirled him around, spinning them in place before he shoved him up against a nearby tree.

He stole a bruising kiss from him that made Falorin weak in the knees.

Before he knew it, Astarion felt a light sting run across his bottom lip. A dark drop of blood pooled sluggishly to the surface.

When he pulled away, Falorin watched him with a playful grin. For a split second, Astarion saw a flash of wickedly sharp teeth, bared at him in excitement. For a split second, he watched Falorin's left eye get completely consumed by a sea of black.

Then, all at once, it was gone, and Falorin was left watching him again through a haze of anticipation, the same as before.

Astarion stared at him, confused yet amused.

“My sweet, you don't need to hide yourself from me,” he reminded him.

Falorin hesitated, then allowed those changes to return. He reached out, cupping the back of Astarion's neck as he dragged him back into a heated kiss.

Now, that much, Astarion could get behind.

Falorin sucked his bloody, bottom lip into his mouth, but Astarion was quick to return the favor.

First chance he got, he sank his fangs into Fal's lip with a vengeance, hard enough to draw some blood for himself. A loud yelp was quickly silenced as he kissed away the first drops, smearing their lips in red. He took Falorin's swollen lip between his teeth and tugged, hissing loudly once he released it.

Drawn in by the sound of his blood racing through his veins, Astarion turned his attention onto his neck from there. Falorin was more than eager to let his head fall back against the tree, arching his neck in encouragement, flushed skin desperately on display for hungry eyes.

Astarion spared him a brief graze of his fangs down the line of his throat, coaxing a delighted gasp from swollen lips.

Whimpering under his breath, Falorin tried to be subtle about his growing desire, rubbing his thighs together just a bit, but Astarion was ever so vigilant, deciding to finally have mercy on him.

Feeding would have to wait, it seemed.

Even if Astarion was simply going through the motions, he figured that he would at least give Fal a noteworthy performance.

He dropped down onto his knees before him.

Although he was in the exact same position only moments prior, Falorin appeared to be genuinely caught off guard by this development, as if he hadn't expected Astarion to return the favor.

“You don't have t—”

“Oh, don't be ridiculous, darling,” Astarion crooned. Already, he could feel a part of his mind starting to shrink away from the act. “What was it you said before?” He hummed in contemplation, his eyes wide as he appraised him, red as blood. “Ah, yes, that's right.” He lowered his voice, throwing Falorin's earlier words right back at him. “I want to taste you.”

In more ways than one, so far as Falorin was concerned.

Fal faltered, unable to find his voice, let alone the right words to suit the moment.

Not that it mattered. Astarion knew exactly what to say.

“Now, do be a good boy,” he told him, “and put your legs on my shoulders.”

Flustered, Falorin couldn't do much besides nod along in agreement.

Carefully, he did as Astarion instructed. He placed one leg over his shoulder, giving him time to adjust to the weight before he threw the other over as well. Even with the tadpole interfering with most of his usual abilities, Astarion was still able to muster up enough strength to hold Falorin up against the tree, his thighs framing Astarion's head.

A shiver ran along Falorin's spine. He felt exposed, vulnerable even.

But he didn't let that stop him.

He brushed a couple of fingers along his inner thigh, attracting Astarion's gaze right where he wanted it.

Once he had his full attention, Falorin said, “If you wish to drink from me, then all you have to do is ask.”

Astarion hummed at the offer.

Eventually, he asked, “May I?”

To which, Falorin answered, “Of course.”

At the promise of such a delectable treat, Astarion hardly wasted any time before indulging. He covered Falorin's thigh in greedy kisses, sucking and nipping, teasing bruises to the surface of his skin before he finally took the plunge.

He sank his fangs into warm flesh, drawing a soft sigh from Falorin's lips.

Blood rushed to fill his mouth.

Astarion couldn't help but moan as the first drop hit his tongue.

As expected, Falorin's arousal did, in fact, change his taste.

That night, his flavor was best described as dark yet sweet. Reminiscent of a cozy night spent with a book by a fireplace, warm and toasty, treating oneself to fine wine and decadent desserts.

There was something else there, something more that Astarion could only assume originated from the energy that Falorin feasted upon. It was a bright aftertaste to counter any lingering bitterness, similar to that of fresh fruit.

All he could do was get lost in each and every drop.

Astarion didn't lie to Fal when he told him that this was a gift. Falorin offered himself to Astarion of his own free will, gave a bit of himself to make Astarion stronger, happier.

And while Falorin didn't exactly fill him up as much as a bear could, his blood proved particularly potent that evening.

One swallow after another left Astarion wanting more. It was addicting, intoxicating, as if all of Falorin's pleasure was spreading through every cell in Astarion's body until it filled him up from head to toe.

His mind settled into a blissful haze.

When Falorin showed no sign of stopping him, Astarion had to pry himself away from his thigh, even as Falorin squirmed with a needy whimper, begging him to continue.

The temptation was great, but the urge to keep going wasn't as strong as it was the first time he drank from him, surprisingly so.

With his head in a buzz, Astarion was grateful for the drink, Falorin's blood being all the encouragement he needed to make it through the night. He remained aware enough to do what needed to be done, but there was enough of a disconnect to keep him from wallowing in any feelings of disgust or loathing.

Astarion watched Falorin rest his head against the tree, nuzzling mindlessly against the bite mark he left behind.

“Messy, messy,” Falorin giggled, his head spinning for a second, slightly lightheaded. “Watch your teeth, mister. If you plan on getting any closer, that is.”

“Trust me, darling,” Astarion purred. “I know what I'm doing.”

Whatever Falorin planned on saying cut off into a gasp as soon as Astarion buried his face between his legs, that gasp soon turning into a cry of Astarion's name.

Good thing about being a vampire? Astarion didn't need to come up for air.

Falorin's fingers found their way into soft curls, tightening just enough to tug at Astarion's roots.

Astarion lavished every inch of him in attention. His tongue explored wet folds. Each stroke left Falorin trembling. Every flick had him grinding against Astarion's face. Sweet nothings mixed in with senseless ramblings, and it didn't take much before he was already close to reaching his peak, starved of touch for so long that every sensation felt like his first and his last.

Once Astarion's mouth started to focus its efforts more so on his cock, Falorin knew that he was done for, feeling his walls start to tighten.

It wasn't long after when Falorin came. His nails clawed at the tree, scrambling for purchase.

For an instant, his entire body tensed like a string drawn taut over a sharp blade. All it took was a single second for him to fall apart, Falorin coming undone from lips and tongue alone.

Astarion let him ride out his orgasm for as long as he saw fit, but he was far from done with him yet.

He lapped at his entrance, savoring the taste of Falorin's cum mixed in with his blood.

Astarion even decided to top himself off, sinking his teeth into his other thigh for a quick drink.

By the time he pulled away, he was an absolute mess, both lips and chin drenched, his hair wild and untamed.

When he set Falorin down onto his feet, Fal's legs buckled beneath him. Astarion was able to catch him in his arms, but he was unable to react fast enough in his current state to keep them both upright.

He stumbled as Falorin's weight fell against him, sending both of them toppling onto the ground.

Astarion grunted when Fal fell on top of him, but the latter didn't waste any time before erupting into a fit of giggles.

Once Astarion managed to recover, he joined in.

Falorin stared down at him with a smirk. Rolling his hips against him, Fal leaned in and kissed Astarion as if the tiniest bit of distance between them would cause him to disappear, revealing the night to be nothing more than a dream.

He tasted himself on his lips without the slightest hint of hesitation.

Between one beat and the next, Astarion flipped them over, settling between Falorin's legs.

He froze when a wave of terror suddenly gripped him by the throat.

Even now, there remained a fear of his tadpole's influence waning, a fear of Cazador taking control over his body and his mind when he least expected it.

Falorin, of course, was not stupid. A little naive at times, but never stupid.

He knew that something was wrong the moment doubt slithered into Astarion's mind, so he quickly sat up when he felt his body stiffen, taking Astarion's face between his hands.

“Hey,” he whispered, his touch gentle in a way that was foreign to him. “My heart, are you alright?”

At that, Astarion swallowed past the lump in his throat.

This close, Astarion knew that it would be near impossible to fool him, Falorin fixated on every shift of his expression, the subtle changes in his voice.

So, for once, he tried his hand at a little honesty.

“I–I'll be fine,” Astarion assured him, forcing the words out. “It's just that I can't seem to escape Cazador's influence, even here.”

If possible, Falorin's touch softened even more, his stare filled with compassion, understanding.

“We could always stop if you need to,” he offered, but Astarion was already shaking his head before he could even finish.

“No, he doesn't get to ruin this for me,” he said. Then, he added, “For you. For us.”

He couldn't afford to let him, not when it was his survival on the line.

Before Falorin could respond, Astarion fell back into old habits, brushing his lips against his, words whispered into the space between them.

“I want to make love to you,” he breathed. Grabbing hold of Falorin's thighs, he massaged them in slow, even circles before dragging him closer. “To claim every inch of you as mine.”

Not a complete lie.

Ever since Falorin planted that seed into his mind, it's been eating at him.

No more would he belong to another, but to have someone so ready to give themself over to Astarion was unheard of. It made him ache with longing.

It was selfish of him to even entertain the idea, but he wanted to ruin Falorin completely for all others. He wanted to ensure that his eyes would never stray to anyone else ever again. Astarion would be the first thought Fal had when he awoke from his rest and the last one before he drifted off into his trance.

Apparently, that shred of truth underlying his words offered enough sincerity to soothe Falorin's concerns.

Falorin shifted in his arms, his blush spread from the tips of his ears to the top of his chest.

“If you start to have any doubts…”

“Then you'll know right then and there.”

Falorin nodded, kissing him sweetly with a smile.

“Then, take me. Please,” he begged. “Gods, take me. I'm all yours.”

Astarion pressed him into the ground, but Falorin didn't need any further encouragement, wrapping his legs around his waist, his heels digging into his back.

Tangling his fingers into Astarion's hair, he guided him closer to whisper in his ear.

“He won't hurt you again,” Falorin promised, Astarion caught off guard by the intensity with which he spoke. “I won't let him.”

It was a laughable thought, really.

Astarion pulled away, only enough to look him in the eyes while they spoke, his forehead resting upon Fal's.

“You can't promise me that.”

“I just did.”

“He is more powerful than you give him credit for.”

“And I am more powerful than you give me credit for,” Fal countered. “Trust me, I will not underestimate him, but I have dealt with his type before.”

Although Astarion knew that wasn't what he meant, he couldn't help but to snort out, “Vampires?”

“No,” Falorin chuckled. “More like assholes who think that other people are pawns in their games, toys for their amusement, but I wasn't lying to you before.”

Sensing his confusion, Fal explained, “I told you before that, had I the knowledge and power back then when we first met that I do now, then I would have done nothing less of moving the Heavens and the Hells to set you free. Well, I have the knowledge.” He brushed white curls back behind pointed ears. “I have the power, and he will not hurt you again.”

That time, Astarion was almost inclined to believe him, but that was exactly what Astarion wanted, wasn't it? For Falorin to care for him to the point where he would protect him above all else.

Astarion reached down between them. After giving himself a few strokes, he lined his tip up with Falorin's entrance.

Falorin shivered, rolling his hips against him, urging him closer.

“Swear to me,” Astarion ordered, his voice a mix between a growl and a purr, but Fal didn't need to be told twice.

“I swear.”

Out of all that was said and done that evening, it was that promise which excited Astarion the most.

He peppered Falorin's face in kisses while he slowly eased inside.

“Fuck,” Fal whimpered, clinging tightly to him.

However, when Astarion felt him tense, he stopped.

He buried his face into the crook of his neck.

“I need you to relax, my dear.” He nuzzled where his pulse was strongest. “I got you.”

Nodding, Falorin swallowed hard, then bared his throat for him.

“Bite me,” he pleaded, his thighs clamping down around him. “I want your marks all over me.”

“But of course,” Astarion hummed. “Your wish is my command.” Even if only for the evening.

Nevertheless, whereas most nights with others turned into a series of faster, rougher, harder, Falorin wasn't lying when he said, out of all people, it was the two of them who deserved a gentle touch for once.

Astarion could manage that for him, now that he had what he wanted.

So anything Falorin wanted? It was his.

And at that moment, he wanted Astarion.

While Astarion sank his fangs into that tender neck of his, he waited until Falorin relaxed before he gave several, slow thrusts of his hips, sinking deeper each time.

That unique, metallic tang of blood flowed into his mouth.

He drank to his heart's content, Falorin stretched tight over his cock.

“Gods,” Fal mewled. Desperately, he rocked his hips in an attempt to take more of him at once, perhaps a bit faster than he should have. “You're so—”

His nails clawed at his back.

His voice cut off into a sharp gasp, trying to catch his breath.

Those little shakes of excitement —all too familiar to Astarion by now— coursed through Falorin's body while Astarion fed.

Well, wasn't that flattering?

“Deeper,” Fal moaned, and Astarion obliged, keeping a relaxed, steady pace as he slid almost all the way out, then sank back in. “Yes. Just like that.”

A sheen of sweat soon coated their skin.

Before long, Astarion was bottoming out inside him.

Withdrawing his fangs, he smeared blood everywhere that his lips touched, admiring the stark contrast of red against Falorin's skin.

“You feel so good,” Astarion said in a bout of mindless praise. “You take me so well, my sweet.”

Falorin's lips parted around a whimper, and another glimpse of those pointed teeth gave Astarion an idea.

After Falorin was so generous, it was only fair that Astarion returned the favor.

He dragged a claw down the line of his throat, splitting open pale skin as dark blood poured forth.

“Bite me,” he told him, the offer open, although it came across more like a command than a request.

A command that Falorin instantly obeyed.

Razor-sharp teeth pierced through Astarion's neck. The pain felt like a million bug bites all happening at once, eventually fading away into the background yet always present. He was clearly inexperienced at using his bite. At first, it was too shallow, then too deep. Blood gushed into his mouth, surprising him enough that he recoiled away from him.

What surprised Astarion was when he immediately dove back in, drinking from him with renewed fervor.

From what Astarion understood, life energy sustained his particular appetites, not blood, but perhaps he discovered something new that he liked. Not necessarily to sustain him, but something that he could indulge in from time to time.

A treat, if you would.

A sweet, throbbing ache rose and fell with each pull of blood. Astarion adjusted the angle of their hips, burying himself down to the base with every thrust.

Heat built inside them both, a swelling pressure that continued to grow in the pit of their stomachs, radiating throughout their thighs.

Once he couldn't take anymore, Falorin released Astarion's throat, only for their lips to crash together in a red, bloody mess.

Between each kiss, they panted into each other’s mouths.

“So close,” Falorin whined. “Astarion—”

“I know, darling,” he grunted, chasing after their release together. “My pretty boy…”

“Yes.” Falorin shivered, then arched against him. “All yours.”

The more Astarion started to pick up the pace, the more their rhythm unraveled. Their hips met with greater force, each smack wet and filthy.

As they neared their climax, Astarion's mind drifted off farther and farther into the distance. Every thrust was instinctive, his body knowing exactly what to do, but his mind had a complete disconnect in that moment, aware of what was happening but not truly there anymore.

When Falorin tossed his head back, his eyes squeezed shut, Astarion didn't even try to hide it any longer, taking advantage of the opportunity.

It only took a couple of more thrusts to send Falorin over the edge with a hoarse cry.

He wrapped around Astarion, tightening around him until, finally, he spilled inside.

Waves upon waves of pleasure crashed down upon them.

A low groan slipped free from Astarion's lips, and they clung to each other in the aftermath, riding out their orgasms until their bodies were sated.

Only then did Astarion collapse upon him, mustering up enough strength to roll off to the side just as quickly, both of them staring up at the stars above them while they steadied their breathing.

They were both a mess of blood, dirt, and cum, but that didn't seem to faze Fal in the slightest.

He buried his face into his hands, and a giggle burst free.

The sound alone popped the bubble that Astarion's mind was hidden within.

All at once, the clouds parted inside him, and clarity took root.

He glanced over at Falorin, who parted his fingers to steal a peek at him as well.

A timid smile played upon blood-covered lips, revealing two rows of wickedly sharp teeth.

Anyone else might have found the sight of him to be unsettling to a degree, but Astarion thought he looked absolutely divine.

“That was… nice,” Falorin eventually managed, at a loss for words.

Astarion raised a brow at him.

“Just ‘nice’?”

“Fishing for compliments, are you?”

“Always.”

“Okay, then.” Falorin shuffled closer. Pressing himself against Astarion's side, he traced idle patterns atop the center of Astarion's chest with a low, appreciative hum. “How about this? It was amazing.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss over his silent heart. “Magnificent.” He pressed another to his jaw, his lips lingering. “Mind-blowing.”

He ended off with a delicate peck, one that spread that infectious smile of his to Astarion.

“About time,” Astarion said. He hesitated, then rested a hand upon Falorin's back, stroking his fingers up and down along the length of his spine. “I finally got some proper praise around here.”

“Long overdue, let you tell it,” Falorin snorted.

“I'm glad that you understand.”

They exchanged soft smiles and even softer touches, everything about it being sort of new to Astarion.

After a moment, Falorin asked him, “Are you okay, though?”

Astarion instantly hit back with, “Why wouldn't I be?” but Fal wasn't falling for it.

He shrugged.

“You seemed a bit distant,” he explained, “especially at the end. It felt like you weren't fully there.”

With nowhere for Astarion to go, Falorin watched the briefest flicker of his eyes as they darted away, the subtle downward curl of his lip, but he was quick to fix the cracks in his mask, so to speak. He looked at Falorin with forced bravado.

“I was holding back a little, it's true,” he said, each word deliberate, spoken with a cadence most unusual to him. “I didn't want to lose control.”

Falorin didn't let him go any further with that thought before he interrupted him.

“No offense,” he told him, “but we both know that's a load of shit.”

“I—” Astarion couldn't do more than laugh, taken aback by the sudden accusation. “Excuse me?”

“Astarion.” Fal reached for his free hand, lacing their fingers together with a firm squeeze. “You don't have to put on some sort of act for me, especially not when it's only the two of us. It's just us. Here. Alone. If anything made you uncomfortable, if I made you uncomfortable in any way…”

Astarion stopped him right there.

“No, I—”

It was a bit perplexing at times how some lies managed to slip by Fal completely undetected, yet there were others that he caught in the span of a heartbeat.

Maybe it was because, despite all of his experience with lies and manipulation, despite all of the cruelties he has faced at the hands of another, he was still a person like any other, still vulnerable to trickery.

Still vulnerable to hope.

Astarion didn't know what to do with this information, now that he had it.

Because, truth be told, Falorin seemed to have so many of his hopes tangled up in Astarion, and that frightened him.

Leaving such ruminations for later, Astarion decided to feed him another scrap of honesty, no matter how small.

“It was just a lot to take in,” he admitted, his tone weary, a slight droop to his ears that wasn't there before.

Falorin nodded in understanding.

“I get that.” He fought back a grimace, trying to make light of the situation with a dry laugh. “You know, it's no testament to your performance or anything, but I swore that I was going to be sick at one point.” He couldn't quite meet Astarion's eyes, gnawing at the inside of his cheek. “For the most part, I was able to relax and live in the moment, but there were definitely times when it was hard to differentiate between the past and the present. When I could still feel his breath on my neck or his hands on my skin.”

His grip on Astarion's hand tightened, as if looking for something to ground him back to reality.

His voice grew thick with emotion.

“So, yeah.” He took a deep breath to steel himself, then cleared his throat. “There were a lot of mixed feelings involved.”

Astarion listened with nothing short of growing horror.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he hissed, frustrated with Falorin, frustrated with himself, frustrated with both of them for not being able to voice their discomforts. “I–I would have stopped, had I known.”

“And that's exactly why I didn't tell you,” Falorin said. Bringing Astarion's hand up to his cheek, Fal nuzzled eagerly against his palm with a purr. “The pleasure of being with you, of being close to you, far outweighed any discomfort on my end. I enjoyed being with you. I didn't want it to end.” He paused for a moment, glancing over at Astarion, his approach now cautious, reserved. “Did–Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes.” No. Maybe?

All Astarion knew was that something about this night clearly meant more to both of them.

“Really?” he breathed.

“You were amazing.” Which wasn't a lie in itself. Falorin did everything right. He could hardly be blamed for that tainted, dirty feeling that still lingered. “Perfect, even.”

Elated, Falorin wrapped his arms around Astarion in a warm embrace.

With his head resting upon his chest, Falorin snuggled as close as possible to his side.

Astarion took a moment to process his close proximity.

Eventually, he wrapped his arms around him in return.

“Falorin.”

“Yes, my heart?”

“I have a question for you.”

“Then ask away.”

Astarion swallowed past his doubts, giving voice to the thought that ate away at him.

“Why me?” he murmured. Shocked, Falorin lifted his head to meet his eyes, so Astarion backtracked some, feeling a tad bit defensive in response. “I mean, yes, I'm irresistible and quite the catch, but you…” He trailed off, his supposed confidence failing him as quickly as it set in. “You had practically everyone falling at your feet tonight, but you chose to spend the rest of your night with me instead. Why?”

Falorin considered that before answering.

“Two reasons.”

“The first?”

“Simple,” he said. “I knew you wouldn't judge. Well, unless I started being—ugh.” Rolling his eyes, Fal feigned a shudder. “Nice, gods forbid.”

Astarion chuckled.

“At least you're aware.”

“Heh. Uh-huh.” Exhausted by the events of the past few days, each blink slowed until Falorin was struggling to keep his eyes open, his speech slightly slurred. “I know the others wouldn't actually judge me, but you just understand some things more than they do, you know?”

Neither of them said a word for a while.

Holding Falorin against him, Astarion watched the stars twinkle far above them, releasing a shaky breath.

“Yeah, that's understandable,” he whispered.

Really, what else could he say?

It sounded so freeing. To find comfort. To seek solace in knowing that one could find more than pity from another, from someone who truly knew what they were going through.

Wait a second.

Astarion furrowed his brow.

“Falorin.”

“Mm-hmm…?” Already, he was trailing off into his trance.

“You said there were two reasons for being with me,” Astarion noted. “What was the second one?”

His voice was little more than a mumble, yet Astarion never heard words any clearer than in that moment.

“It was always supposed to be you.”

Before Astarion could question him further, Falorin's breathing slowed to an even pace, his mind submerged in the beginning of his trance.

Astarion didn't dare interrupt, left to his own thoughts.

And for the first time in a long, long time, he felt safe.

Safe enough, at least, to slip deep into his own trance with Falorin in his arms.

A fact that he didn't dare unpack yet.

A thought to save for later.

Being in Falorin's arms was nice, though, and that was where Astarion remained until the sun came up.

Truly, it had been an evening unlike any other.