Chapter Text
Officially, the Underdark sucked. It was frigid firstly, not a ray of sunlight to be seen and enough running waterfalls to give the place a chill. Wren also found themself uneasy around the myconids. They already didn’t like that people could get in their mind via the tadpole, but also having spores around that let the strange fungal creatures in their most protected place? No. Though them and Astarion had gotten to take care of one of them rather gruesomely, so that was lovely.
Once Wren had changed for the evening, ready to settle in for the night, they approached Astarion’s tent. They knew he wouldn’t be able to make them any warmer, but they were sure he would also feel the cold. But to their surprise, when they approached, Astarion seemed to be studying his face in the mirror. “Looking at something?” He asked, his back facing them.
“Just looking, what are you doing?” Wren asked, their head cocked to the side like they were studying Astarion.
Astarion seemed to squint into the mirror. “I’m looking too, but not seeing very much. Another quirk of my affliction,” He almost sneered.
“Do you miss it? Seeing your own face?” Wren asked inquisitively.
Astarion was quick to reply. “Preening in the looking glass? Petty Vanity? Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.”
“What colour were they before?” They asked, again cocking their head to the side. They imagined Astarion with other eye colors, imagining what would suit him best. They landed on green. A nice Jade green.
“I… I don’t know. I can’t remember. My face is just some dark shape in my past.” Astarion gritted his teeth and threw the mirror at the ground, the glass shattering on impact. “Another thing I’ve lost.”
Wren squinted. They leaned close to Astarion, tilting their head. They drank in every one of his features. The spun cloud that was his hair. His eyes carved from rubies. His sculpted porcelain skin. The small, nearly imperceptible scar left of his lips. His thick, dark lashes.
“What?” Astarion asked.
“I see you,” Wren said softly with a smile on their face.
“And what do you see, exactly?” He asked.
Wren thought for a moment. They observed how Astarion’s fine face moved. What was a… flattering thing to say? Wren smiled. “The creases on your face when you smile,”
“Excuse me? I’m an eternally young vampire, not your doting grandmother.” He replied, a tad peeved. “You can do better. What else?” Wren fought back a scoff. They liked his smile lines.
“The way your hair curls around your ears,” They settled on.
“Ugh, this is meant to be flattery, not poetry.” Astarion bemoaned. Wren laughed softly. Perhaps it just wasn’t the kind of compliments he was used to hearing. Because Wren meant every single one of them. “Just tell me I’m beautiful, and we can call it a day,” Astarion said with a slight dismissive wave of his hand.
“I’m not sure, Wyll’s more my type,” Wren joked with a quirk to their eyebrow. They could feel Wyll’s gaze on them instantly. Not a kind one at that. They would deal with the blade later. They had more pressing matters at the moment.
“How dare you,” Astarion joked right back, putting his hand over his unbeating heart. “I thought we had something special. Still, you’re nice too.” Wren smiled in reply. “I’d better get some beauty sleep. It seems I need it if I’m to catch up to the competition,”
“May I join you?” Wren asked. “That’s what I came over for. I thought you’d be cold. And I can’t imagine you've found anything to feed from down here,”
“My dear, how could I say no?” Astarion did a little bow and opened the flap of his tent. Wren jokingly bowed right back and stepped into the tent. They laid down on the bedroll on their side, getting comfortable. Astarion sidled up next to them, his chest pressed against the tiefling’s back. He gently laid an arm over their waist and Wren naturally snuggled closer.
“Are you comfortable?” Wren asked. They’d learned not to turn their head back to look at Astarion when he was behind them after they’d knocked him in the nose once with their horns.
“Quite, my dear,” Astarion replied softly. Wren felt a faint breeze on their neck that they now recognized as Astarion’s breath. It was cool, like the rest of him. There was an adjustment period with the temperature, but Wren didn’t mind anymore. The arm around their waist tightened slightly, and Wren laid their hand over Astarion’s. They felt the cool press of lips against their neck, again and again. He was peppering their neck with kisses. Then his lips stayed on one spot, more open-mouthed. Wren relaxed their neck, then Astarion bit.
Wren didn’t flinch this time, just let out a soft puff of air. They felt the blood begin to flow from the twin puncture wounds in their neck. There was also a vague sense that the spot on their neck was beginning to bruise from how desperately Astarion was sucking from their neck. It was clear he was hungrier than he’d let on. They’d barely found a single thing Astarion could even feed on, a few Duergar at most and apparently they didn’t taste very good, something about the myconid’s spores. Wren’s grip on Astarion’s hand tightened and they winced softly.
Astarion detached his fangs from their neck, and Wren panted softly. They felt a thumb, now slightly warmed from the fresh blood inside the body, wipe away a bit of blood from their neck that had begun to flow from the wound. “Apologies, my sweet,” Astarion said as he began the familiar routine of bandaging Wren’s neck. “Did I take a bit too much? I wouldn’t want you out of commission. We all know the others are a bit useless without us.” Astarion nuzzled into the back of Wren’s hair. “Without you,”
Wren wheezed out a small laugh. “I… no, not too much,” Wren said, though they weren’t sure they believed it. “I… I do believe you’ve left a bruise behind on my neck, star,” Wren reached up to run a hand over their bandages.
“Seems a distinct possibility,” He admitted, before kissing the back of their hand. “Rest now. You need it, songbird. We’re to the forge tomorrow, remember?” Astarion took a blanket he’d acquired and lifted it over the both of them. Wren nestled back, closer to Astarion. He didn’t feel that cold anymore. Not after feeding. Wren’s breathing slowed as they drifted into a woosy, bloodlet sleep. “Sleep well,” He muttered.