Part 2 - courting death for the night

Tav wakes up feeling weak and in pain. Shadowheart confronts him about his appearance and suggests setting up a quarantine. Tav insists that he's fine and needs breakfast. As he observes the campsite, he notices Astarian approaching him with a healing potion. Astarian reveals that he has plans for Tav and wants him to be able to walk without a limp. Tav is hesitant but intrigued. They join a hunting expedition with Lae'zel, and Tav reflects on his complicated feelings for Astarian. After a battle, Tav's shirt is ruined, and he wonders how Astarian keeps his clothes pristine. Tav burns his shirt and goes to sleep, exhausted. In his dream, he imagines a sexual encounter with Astarian but wakes up alone. Part 2 of A Crooked Touch Courting Death for the Night In the morning, Tav almost doesn't wake at all. Time to get up, calls out a soft voice pierced through with disdain, honey-bittered by impatience. I think you've had enough beauty sleep. Tav crawls back into his own body like a ghost, groaning with the effort, and opens his eyes. Standing over him with arms crossed is Shadowheart. She just stares down at him, silent judgment written all over her face. Then, she apparently can't hold it in any longer. You look half-dead. You look worse than Gale, and I pulled two arrows out of his stomach lining yesterday. Are you sick? Should we set up a quarantine? Tav tries to lift his arm, to touch the place on his body that hurts the most, the side of his neck a fucking course, but it's like his limb weighs a hundred pounds each. I'm fine, he croaks. Just need some breakfast. Shadowheart lifts an eyebrow, like she's certain that no mortal food would even come close to fixing what's wrong with Tav. Gale is off cooking duty, so Will's doing his best. I would lower my expectations if I were you. She walks away, though not without flashing Tav another look over her shoulder. It takes a full minute, or perhaps even longer, but Tav musters the strength to sit up. As he pulls on his armor, he glances around the campsite. There's Will, crouched over the dying embers of the campfire, and poking at something that looks suspiciously like burnt cabbage. Lazelle's already doing her morning drills, whirling around her training dummy like she's got all the energy in the world to spare. Shadowheart's gone, probably to the back of her tent to do her hair or whatever she gets up to with all that time she spends alone. Gale's stretched out next to the fire on a pile of pillows. Tav recalls Will gathering them from everybody's tents last night, like a guilt-ridden priest passing around the collection plate. Looking for someone, Tav jumps, his laden body transformed to a live wire in an instant. Astarian's behind him when he turns. He's clean, not a speck of blood or grime to be seen. Cleaner than Tav has ever seen him, Tav realizes. Was all that fuss at the river yesterday just Astarian's elation at finally being able to take a bath? For someone with a deeply held aversion to running water, bathing in the wilderness must be nigh on impossible. Sunlight limbs Astarian's silvery hair and casts his face into shadow, making it impossible for Tav to see his expression. I've brought something for you, darling. Tav expects a dead bird or something equally macabre, so he's mildly surprised when Astarian holds out a dusty bottle. A healing potion? Tav asks. I thought you didn't have any more. That was when Will was the one asking. Tav glances at the fire, making sure Will isn't watching. Gale needs it more than I do. Nonsense. He'll have all day to lounge about and camp with Shadowheart looking after him like a mother hen. You and I, however, have plans. Plans that necessitate you walking without a limp. Tav glances down at the bandaged thigh and remembers the sting of the hyena's teeth, followed almost instantly by a memory of a different set of things. He twitches with an involuntary shiver and looks up to see if Astarian noticed. Of course he did. He's shifted against the sun and Tav can see his face now. Take note of the fleeting smile that crosses it. And what plans would those be, exactly? Tav asks slowly, feeling one step behind, as fucking usual. Maybe this is all part of Astarian's plan to keep him too deprived of blood to think straight. That would be clever, wouldn't it? To treat Tav like the leader the way the others do, while puppeting him from the shadows. No, that's giving Astarian too much credit. Tav reminds himself that he asked Astarian to bite him last night. Nearly begged him for it. Oh gods, last night. Astarian saw everything. Tav stifling his moans around his fist while he touched himself on the beach, like a frantic teenager consumed with lust. And they're not going to talk about it, are they? Why, don't tell me you're losing your memory. Astarian draws, clearly enjoying every second of this. The Blade of Frontiers. A rampaging devil. Someone needs to keep dear Will from becoming the next corpse in Karlak's trail of victims. And I'm feeling positively heroic today. Aren't you? Tav rolls his eyes, an attempt at effective nonchalance so pathetic he's disgusted with himself. Sure, one little potion and I'll be ready to take on the world. With Gale indisposed and Shadowheart looking after him in camp, Lae'zel reluctantly agrees to join today's Karlak hunting expedition. Tav doesn't know what Will said to convince her that this was an acceptable distraction from their overall mission. But it worked, and he's glad of it. You always feel safer with Lae'zel's greatsword between him and their enemies. He feels broken today. Slow, weak, aching in various places across his body. His neck, his leg, his dignity. Astarian's potion took the edge off, but Tav senses that whatever Astarian took from him last night, and the night before, and the night before that, can't be replaced with a few gulps of magic tincture. It still isn't sustainable. Tav knows that. It's not going to happen again, he tells himself. But he's lying, and he knows that too. Is this how Astarian felt when he came to him that first night? Sympathy swells in Tav at the thought. He glances over at Astarian, loping down the forest trail with a faraway expression on his marble face, and something soft squirms inside Tav's chest. Like the tadpole, but instead of an eldritch larva placed in his brain by a mind flayer, it's a different kind of parasite. One that feeds on Tav's heart. It's so very foolish. So incredibly misguided. Astarian sees him as a tool. A warm body to shield him. A pliant protector. Tav knows that. Knows the odds are a couple hundred to one that a vampire spawn could be capable of anything more. And even if Astarian is capable, that doesn't mean he's inclined. Tav wants him. Because he wants him in every fucked up way possible. Neck deep in blood and filth, honeyed lies on his tongue, fingers around Tav's throat. It's frankly insane, this desperate lust he feels, that only grows stronger by the day, every hour he spends in Astarian's presence. And the worst peril is that it isn't just lust. Tav wants to know Astarian. To slip his fingertips into the cracks in Astarian's mask and peel it back. Dive into the well of two centuries of moonlight and death and see what's at the bottom, even if he drowns. Shadowheart was right. Tav is sick. And he doesn't think there's a cure. Tav's sword is wet with the blood of false paladins. The building groans around him, aging timbers catching a flame from the sheer heat of Karlak's body as she exults in the destruction, in freedom. Tav's glad for her, but suddenly he can't breathe in all the smoke. He flees outside and falls to his hands and knees in the dirt, eyes watering, choking air into his lungs. A fresh cut across his shoulder blade throbs, leaking sticky warm into the back of his tunic. It's not a life-threatening wound, so long as he makes sure it doesn't fester. Shadowheart can fix him up, but goddamn it hurts. Someone's complaining loudly behind him, breathing through a pulsing fog of pain. Tav's awareness swivels toward the sound of Astarion's voice, seeking it like a dying man thirsting for water. The least she could have done is wait for us to leave the building. Look at my cloak. It's ruined. You care too much for vanity, and not enough for sharpening your skills in battle, little bloodsucker. Oh, Lae'zel, dear, you have no idea of the skills I possess. Perhaps one of these nights you'll have the pleasure of finding out. Please don't make me listen to this, Will groans. Hey, Tav. Tav, are you all right? Tav takes Will's offered hand and pulls himself upright, slapping on a smile. They train them good in the Hells. Karlaak's a beast in a fight, and those false paladins were no pushovers either. Astarion sidles up on Tav's other side, and Tav's skin prickles in his proximity. That's a lot of blood, Astarion mummers, his voice wanton. Like they're tangled together in the sweaty darkness of a tent instead of standing outside of a burning building in broad daylight, companions in tow. It's shameless, and it isn't fair. Get your appetite in check, Astarion, Will snaps, clearly in no mood. It's nice, Tav thinks, to have someone act so protectively towards him, but that's how the Blade of Frontiers behaves with everyone, like the whole world is his responsibility. Tav might need the protection, but he's not sure he wants it. There's no saving his shirt. Tav is forced to admit that evening, once he's managed to peel the blood-soaked thing from the mass of healing scabs on his back. The Shadowheart's... Shadowheart's magic closed his wound, but it won't do a thing for stains. How the hell does Astarion keep his clothes so pristine? It must be vampire magic, or else he's bribing Gale for a stain-removing cantrip every night. Tav tosses his shirt into the fire and watches it burn. Everyone's retired to their tents for the night, including their newest addition, Karlak, who doesn't have a tent yet, but graciously accepted Tav's offer to take his. Tav really uses his tent anyway. He prefers to sleep under the stars, for reasons he'll keep to himself unless somebody asks. And he might actually sleep tonight. The exhaustion he feels after the day's events is bone-deep, crushing, all-consuming. Even his tadpole is quiet and still within his skull, as his bloody shirt crumples to ashes in the fire. Tav curls up on his bedroll and slips into oblivion. He lies on his stomach, trembling, his breath coming in harsh pants and gasps, as a sharp tongue traces the weeping edge of the sword wound on his back. Hmm. Asarian groans drunkenly against his skin. Cold hands grip Tav's waist, pinning him down. Hot blood trickles down Tav's side. You've never tasted better, darling. Asarian's weight is unyielding, pressing Tav down so firmly he couldn't escape if he wanted to. It hurts. Oh, it hurts. Tav can't move except to make tiny, desperate thrusts of his hips against his bedroll. He hears a tormented gasp ring free of his throat, the sound of suffering mingled with impossible pleasure. His cock is so hard it feels like it'll burst at any moment. Please, he begs. He doesn't know if he's begging for Asarian to let him go or press him down harder. All he knows is that this is torture and he's going to die. Please, Asarian, please. Wetness under his groin, soaking into his bedroll. He's leaking. Keep bleeding for me, Asarian purrs. His tongue laps at Tav's back, sucking eagerly at his broken skin. He isn't using his teeth. He doesn't need to. The noises he's making are obscene. I'm... I'm not going to make it, I... Tav snaps awake just in time to feel his abs tighten and his toes curl. Oh gods, he's coming. He clutches for a grip in the dirt on either side of his bedroll and rides the waves of pleasure, hips rocking helplessly as his cock pulses and heat floods his breeches. It's all he can do to whimper softly through it instead of moaning loudly enough to wake everyone in camp. When it's over, he collapses, spent and a little shocked. A wet dream? Really? Has it come to this? Even sleep is no escape any longer. The campsite is silent, except for the low cackle of the dying fire and crickets chirping in the blackness beyond the flames. It's the deepest part of the night, and the last thing Tav wants to do is crawl out from under his blanket to clean himself up. But he's too old to lie in his mess until morning, so off the blanket goes. Now he's down to his backup shirt and his backup breeches. A full set of clothing scrounged up from the wreckage of that caravan they passed on the bridge two days back, stolen from a dead man's backpack. Lovely. He's about to go back to his bedroll when a terrible urge draws his gaze to Astarian's tent. Tav bites his lip, overcome by temptation and despair. He promised himself he wouldn't do this tonight. He's a dirty, dirty liar. Tav moves to Astarian's tent like a man walking to his own execution. Hand on the canvas flap, he calls quietly into the darkness beyond. Astarian? There's a long beat of silence that almost saves him. If Astarian doesn't reply, Tav can give up and go back to sleep and pretend this never almost happened. Then a rustle and a response. Hmm, what is it? Tav's heart skips a beat. Astarian sounds sleepy, his voice soft and bare of the affectations that cloak it by daylight, genuine in a way Tav's never heard him sound before. He swallows, fighting with himself, and says, I- Can I talk to you? Another beat of silence. Then, come inside. That fleeting unguardedness Tav heard is gone. Astarian's walls are up again. He can hear it just from those two little words. Tav wants to mourn something he never deserved to hear in the first place. He pushes open the flap and crawls inside Astarian's tent. It strikes him immediately that the air inside should be warm, but it isn't. Astarian doesn't have any body heat to feel the space with. If anything, it's colder than the night outside. Tav blinks, his elvish sight adjusting quickly to the utter lack of light, and Astarian's pale face looms before him like a ghost. You smell like sex, Astarian says, his eyes alight. Have I missed out on something amusing? A dalliance with one of our dear companions, perhaps? God damn it. A change of clothes and a quick rinse with Tav's water skin weren't enough to fool a vampire's nose. Astarian could have been polite and refrained from bringing it up, but then he'd miss an opportunity to torment Tav, which he would never do. That's none of your business, he says, calmly enough, though his burning ear tips surely give him away. I just wanted to see how you were doing with the new person in camp and everything. It's the middle of the night, my friend. You could have asked me in the morning. Think of it as respect for your schedule. I assumed you're used to having friendly chats before the sun comes up, not after. You're assuming I have a great deal of experience with friendly chats. Astarian's gaze travels over Tav, his shirtless torso wrapped in bandages, the ill-fitting breeches he wears. Not the ones he went to sleep in. Does Astarian pay enough attention to him to know that? Well, I suppose I have enough experience to know this isn't one. Have you come to offer yourself to me again? I'm quite sated, you know. One of those so-called paladins took an eternity to die and was ever so generous with her blood, right up until her heart gave out. Tav shrugs, his heart racing at the traitorous thought of Astarian drinking deep from a dying woman on the floor of a burning building. So that's how his cloak got ruined. In that case, I'll go back to sleep. Just wanted to check. Not so fast. In an instant, Astarian's hand is on Tav's knee, elongated nails gently pricking through the fabric of his breeches. You're a sweet thing, Tav. There's just something I can't figure out about you. Astarian's eyes meet his, hooded, and oh, so very red. Why are you so desperate to die? Excuse me? I could taste it, Astarian says, his voice low. It's in your blood. Especially last night, after I found you on the beach. You want to be devoured, completely. You want to walk through the door of the night and never come back again. So I'm curious, love. Why is that? Tav just stares at him, dry mouth, pulse hammering in his ears. He feels the tadpole squirm and thinks, right now, that seromorphosis wouldn't be the worst way out. It was one thing for Astarian to catch him in a compromising position, and quite another entirely for his blood to have given away his most humiliating secret. Let's talk about something else, he whispers. Please. Astarian licks his lips. The flash of white thing has to be deliberate. You weren't lying, were you? You need this more than I do. If the others knew, you put on quite the show for them, yes. The determined, fearless leader, always ready to save the day. The one who gives them hope that these worms in our skulls won't turn us into monsters. Astarian studies him. But you don't believe it. You're making your peace with death. And you're using me to do it. He makes a subtle note of resignation to his voice. It's almost disappointment, like he expected, wanted, something more. What is it? Tav wants to demand, shaking the pale elf by the shoulders until he comes clean. What did you want that you thought I could possibly give you? Is that so bad? he asks instead, forcing a smile. I thought you'd be the last one to judge me for putting on a show. Astarian's hand leaves his knee. But before Tav can grieve its absence, the hand in question finds its way to his face, stroking along the line of his jaw. Then the touch turns insistent, tilting his chin to put his neck on display. Astarian's eyes never leave his. Tav's hard again. He's not sure when it happened. Probably the moment Astarian first touched him, his cock twitches, jumping in his trousers. If I'm honest with myself, Astarian says, I never say no to dessert. He pushes Tav back into a nest of blankets that reeks faintly of old blood and dried flowers. His mouth finds the beat of Tav's pulse in his neck, and Tav submits, shuddering, to the fangs that slide into his flesh. It barely hurts this time. The pain searing across his back drowns it out. Tav whimpers, and miraculously Astarian shifts instantly so that they're both lying on their sides. His grip on Tav's throat loosens. Better? Y-yes? He didn't expect Astarian to notice his pain, which does care. Uncertainty coils in Tav's chest, threatening to pull him apart. He's been operating under the assumption that Astarian doesn't care for him at all. If he's wrong, then all of this becomes wrong. Then Astarian's teeth find his pulse again, and the momentary panic Tav felt is lost to a wave of chilling euphoria. That helpless feeling he's been chasing comes faster this time. Maybe because he doesn't have as much blood to spare. The heat drains from his body with alarming speed. Except for one place on his body. A confused, flailing part of Tav's mind wonders that there's some kind of aphrodisiac in Astarian's saliva. Because there's no other explanation for his cock growing stiffer as Astarian drinks from him. Rigor mortis, maybe. Tav shakes with disbelieving laughter. Astarian wrenches free, blood dripping from his mouth. What's so funny? Tav's gasping, unable to catch his breath. I... I... hold on, I can't... You're not dying, Astarian snaps. Stop acting like it. Slowly, Tav recovers enough to speak, though he still feels like he's guzzled a whole pitcher of strong wine. Light-headed, loose, low on inhibition. Does this always happen? He's past caring. He gestures at his erection, standing eagerly against his trousers. To everyone you drink? Astarian's gaze slides down to Tav's crotch and his eyes darken. With hunger, or something else, Tav can't tell. I can't say for sure, he says, given that you were my first and the only one with the appropriate anatomy. But I doubt it. My little meal earlier today seemed to have our hands full with dying, not getting off. Well, points for honesty. Tav throws his head back and gives another huff of laughter. Maybe it's the tadpole fucking with me. At any rate, it's inconvenient. He's not as embarrassed as he should be. That ship set sail from the beach last night, apparently. Now it just feels like a new normal to be lying shirtless in front of a blood-drunk Astarian with a raging erection on display, not twenty minutes after his first wet dream in decades. Astarian just has that effect on him, and he must know it. Inconvenience, Astarian repeats, something dangerously silken in his tone. He puts a brazen hand on Tav's thigh. Inconvenient for who? It's certainly not inconvenient for me. Tav lifts his head to stare at him. You... you don't have to do anything. I know. Astarian lowers his face to Tav's neck again, and Tav's weak pulse screams a warning at him. He really doesn't have any more blood to give, not if he wants to survive the night. That much is obvious. But he never feels the sting of Astarian's fangs, just the slow lap of his tongue across the oozing holes they made moments earlier. The sensation sends Tav into a frenzy. He's too sensitive, and Astarian is being too gentle. This isn't right. He came here to offer Astarian his blood, not to guilt him into sexual favors. But oh, this is doing unspeakable things to him. Astarian is right. As humiliating as that is, Tav's hips rock, a moan fluttering on his lips. If Astarian keeps this up, Tav will come undone without a single touch and ruin his last clean pair of breeches. And this isn't doing nothing for Astarian, if the ragged breathing against Tav's neck is an indication. Tav decides to take a chance, and lets one hand wander up Astarian's lean bicep, over the sharp angle of his shoulder. He never put his hands on Astarian before, not like this, not even when Astarian was drinking from him. He still doesn't have an explicit invitation, so he keeps to relative safe territory. Just the shift of muscle in Astarian's back and shoulders under Tav's hands, as he crouches over Tav and lathes at his neck, is unbearably sensual. God knows what it would do to him if he ever had permission to touch Astarian in other, lower places. His fingertips find something odd on Astarian's back, a raised sort of ridge, like a scar. Astarian hisses, and Tav yanks his hand away. Sorry, I'm sorry. Don't apologize, Astarian says, his voice rougher than Tav's ever heard him. He winds his fingers through Tav's and brings Tav's hand down, down between Tav's legs, where his aching member throbs with the need to be touched. There will be other nights, darling, you can count on that. But tonight, I want to hear you fall apart from me, under me, like this, nothing else. Tav groans, nearly insensible, and takes himself out of his trousers with a trembling hand. Astarian's fingertips rest on the back of his knuckles as Tav gives his cock one long, shuddering pull. There's a moment of relief, touching himself at last, but the relief is quickly swallowed up by a flood of need. Gods, Tav breathes. His hand moves, finding a rhythm, and Astarian's touch stays with him, feather-light and barely there, so close and so far at the same time. Which is exactly how Tav feels. He's on the brink. He's been on the brink for what feels like eons. But whether it's the sluggish pulse of blood in his veins, or spending himself in his sleep earlier, he can't seem to find his peak. Astarian makes a noise against his neck, something between a sigh and a groan. His free hand snakes around Tav and finds the bandaged wound on his back. Tav tenses, his body straining toward Astarian, desperate for more touch than he's getting, even if that touch brings pain. Especially if that touch brings pain. Astarian's cool fingers slip under his bandages and a nail presses delicately into the cut. The pain takes Tav's breath away. He gives a violent shudder, heat abruptly coiling in his stomach. Astarian, he gasps. It's too much. Astarian. Tav grips the back of Astarian's head, pulling his face deeper into the crook of his neck and convulses. He's coming harder than he knew possible. His relief spurts through his fingers, a series of hot, sticky pulses that coat his belly, his own hand, and Astarian's, the blankets beneath them. The sounds he's making are ones he's never heard himself make before, wet, choked groans like he's dying in Astarian's arms. God's your sight, Astarian says with a dark laugh. If only your friends could see you like this. Astarian shifts his weight, and even in the heaty fog of his afterglow, Tav feels it instantly. Astarian's hard against Tav's hip. He didn't even know vampires could do that. Of course, Astarian's said plenty of suggestive things to Tav and everyone else with an earshot over the past few days, but it could have been all smoke and no fire. Just part of his whole sleazy, seductive persona. The one he puts on when he's not covered in blood and being absolutely fucking terrifying. It doesn't mean anything, Tav tells himself. Nothing at all. Still panting, he meets Astarian's lidded, crimson gaze. A lazy smile flickers across Astarian's lips, and Tav entertains the brief, intriguing thought of kissing those lips. Deeply. But he suspects now isn't the time. Can I return the favor? Tav asks huskily. Astarian tilts his head. What favor? There's a dangerous undertone to his voice, one that says, Don't push. I wasn't doing you a kindness, Tav. You're going to have a bad day tomorrow. But you'll push through it, won't you? We have a druid to find and a grove of tieflings to save. So, if you've finished courting death for the night, try to get some sleep. Tav swallows down his disappointment. He's still too lightheaded to think straight, but he suspects that he's made a mistake. Possibly a lot of mistakes. But one thing's for certain. Astarian might have flaked his thirst, but Tav hasn't. Tav rolls to his hands and knees, testing his strength. He thinks he'll make it to his bedroll, and no further than that. Good night, Astarian. Astarian smiles, his mask effortless. Sweet dreams, darling. The tent flap falls closed between them.