Part 5 - the breaking of fragile things

Tav is facing a horde of goblins led by Minthara and is joined by Will and Astarion. Tav is worried about Halfen, who is missing. Tav and Astarion have a conversation about dying and Astarion assures Tav that he won't be a hero. Tav fights bravely and kills many goblins. After the battle, Tav is injured and Astarion helps him. The rest of the group tends to Tav's wounds and praises him for his bravery. Astarion leaves briefly, but Tav believes he will return. Tav attends a party and reflects on his feelings for Astarion. Part 5 of A Crooked Touch If he survives this, Tav won't ask Gustarian to make good on his word. That's looking like a pretty big if right now. Standing above the massive wooden gate that leads into the fragile safety of the Emerald Grove, Tav surveys the baying horde. Minthara has brought a small army to his doorstep, all howling throats and thirsty blades that want to plunder and destroy everything Tav's promised to keep safe. There's ice in his veins. If his stomach weren't empty, he'd be fighting the urge to vomit. Someone clears their throat next to him. It's Will. The Blade of Frontiers lays a steadying hand on Tav's arm and says, It's almost time. Tav swallows. The druids? Steelseals away! Tav, I pounded and shouted until my throat was raw. They wouldn't open the door to their sanctum. And Halfen still isn't here. Halfen. Tav's stomach roils again. Gods, one would think that after fucking up every day of his damned life, Tav would be used to this feeling. He shouldn't have let Halfen go on the pre-dawn scouting mission to count the goblin horde in the woods. He should never have let Halfen go alone, even though the archdruid insisted. Sure, Tav isn't Halfen's keeper. They aren't even friends. They met yesterday. But Tav collects responsibilities like some men collect venereal diseases, eagerly, breathlessly, never learning his goddamned lesson. We don't need them, Tav says in a voice he doesn't recognize, strong, confident, absent of any trace of gut-wrenching, pant-sweating terror. We have everything we need to survive this. I've come out on top of far worse odds. I've got the scars to show for it. Oh, I'm not worried, Will says with a chuckle. Not with you around. I'll check in with Zevlor and his archers. He walks off, and Tav spends a harrowing stream of seconds fighting the all-consuming urge to leap from the wall, right into the frenzied crush of the goblins below. He can taste the bile on his tongue, hear the screams of the dying as he carves his way through them, losing himself in a torrent of blood. Using everything he has, his last handful of seconds gasping breath, to thin the horde by a few dozen if he's lucky. Maybe those few dozen would make all the difference. Daydreaming, Awi asks a smooth voice. It must be a nice fantasy, you're smiling. Tav turns his head and looks right into Astarion's scarlet eyes. A shiver passes through him, though, unlike all the other shivers he's experienced in Astarion's presence lately, this one feels more like a blessing than a curse. Astarion's still here, and part of Tav doesn't believe it. Just thinking about you, Tav lies. Hmm, Astarion says, unconvinced. As ravishing as I am, distractions can be deadly at a time like this. Let's save the erotic fantasies for later, shall we? We can even ax them out, if you like. It wasn't altogether a lie, Tav realizes. He was thinking about how it would feel to die, and that isn't so different from how it feels to care about someone like Astarion. Either way, a short fall and a bloody end. Down below, the many-throated roar of the goblin horde fades into a frightening silence. A figure in black leather appears from their ranks, holding a blade that shimmers under the sun like death. The same hush falls over the wall where Tav, his friends, and the tiefling stand, ready to die defending a grove that doesn't belong to any of them. There are only moments left before it begins. Tav draws his sword. Astarion, he forms his lips to a name like it's the last time he'll ever get to say it. You won't try to be a hero, will you, if I go down? Of course not, darling, Astarion says in a tone of flawless contempt. I'll be halfway to Moonrise Towers before your corpse is cold. You can count on it. Tav breathes, long and slow. Thank you. But what a waste that would be, Astarion continues, and Tav's heart plummets. He'd hoped Astarion would make this easy for him, but when has he ever? What an absolutely charmless, repellent, common waste. I'll think less of you for it. I'll be embarrassed on your behalf. Astarion, killed by goblins, Astarion snorts. How trite. He wouldn't be caught dead visiting that gravestone. Tav trembles. This shouldn't be possible, but he's laughing. He's laughing, and to his great alarm, he feels tears welling up in his eyes. Hmm, there you are, Astarion says, satisfied. Now come, love, no more of this dull talk. Let's spill some blood. And he does. Oh, he does. Tav was no soldier, no killer in his past life. Before the nautiloid, before the tadpole, he remembers being gentle. He picked up a sword and shield to protect. He worked bloodless jobs, the ones that hired muscle to scare off trouble before it started. He'd never taken a life. The world wasn't soft or kind, but it was better than this. Now the sky darkens and the air thickens with copper, and Tav becomes the dealer of death like he was born for it. He was, and he never had the occasion to know it until now. He kills and kills and kills until there's nothing left. Nothing but the hot sun and a field of corpses. The horn blows. The tieflings are shouting, Victory! We won! We survived! It's over! And Tav can't breathe. Like he's fled a burning building and can't get the smoke out of his lungs. It can't be over. He can't be still alive. Someone approaches him through the haze. Astarion, blood-soaked and blood-drunk, grinning like a loon. His smile slips when he gets a good look at Tav. He says something, but Tav doesn't understand him. Kept my promise, Tav says. Astarion looks at him for a long moment. Not you did, he replies, sounding thoughtful. Beautifully done, too. I almost couldn't take my eyes off of you. I'm glad you liked what you saw, Tav coughs. Something's wrong. He looks down and sees the steel protruding from his stomach. A goblin sword, sunken up to the hilt. It must be sticking out the other side, but he can't feel it. Astarion catches him as he swoons. Only a flesh wound, he says in Tav's ears. He half-walks, half-carries him to the gate. Hardly anything to feel guilty about. This doesn't count as breaking your word. I know you did your best. Simply breathing in and out is enough of a challenge. Tav can't form words to reply. But he savours this, as fucked up as it is to savour a sword in his gut. He clings to Astarion's body, closer than he almost ever is. And he clings to that note of worry buried deep in Astarion's voice. You only take an interest in me when I'm in pain. He must have made a sound, perhaps one of anguish. Because Astarion's steps quicken. Almost to the cleric love. The world slips. And a moment later, Tav's lying in the grass, watching an ant crawl up the stem inches from his face. He feels a familiar icy touch of Shadowheart's magic prodding at his wounds. Something slips beneath his teeth. It's tough, and it tastes like salt. Bite down, Shadowheart says. Karlak! Tav obeys. He knows what's coming. But that doesn't do a thing to dull the agony. When he hears Karlak grunt and feels the sword come wrenching out of his belly, he screams around the leather strap. I know how you feel. Gale's sympathetic voice. I've been there, my friend. It's hardly a pleasant sensation. I know. He's handling it better, Lazale observes coldly. You shrieked much louder. And longer. Well, I did have two arrows that required removal. Which, if you'll indulge me in a quick spot of material plane mathematics, is twice as many. Gale. Tav croaks. Shut up. Ha! Lazale says. Lazale, you too. Don't sit up yet, Shadowheart warns Tav. I'm not done. Tav can feel her magic working on him, knitting his organs back together. He knows better than to rush through it. This morning, when he sheepishly asked Shadowheart to fix his broken fingers, he could have sworn that she dragged the process out on purpose, just to teach him some kind of sadistic lesson. Karlak pats his shoulders. We've got you, soldier. Just lie still. You know, I can't fucking believe you pulled it off. You're incredible. Tav squints against the sun, trying to see her face. Pulled what off? No one died, Karlak says. Not a single soul. Well, other than a lot of goblins, a couple spiders, and one seriously pissed off drow. We showed them, eh? Thank the gods Alvin showed up when he did. But it was mostly you, Tav. I killed, and I killed, and I killed. Astarion, Tav says. Where is he? Karlak glances around. He was just right here. Don't you remember him bringing you in? Seems he's scampered off. Probably looking for a goblin that isn't quite dead yet. She laughs, one of those incongruously bloodthirsty laughs that Tav still isn't used to hearing from the sweet, sunny Karlak. Well, I suppose the kid deserves a snack. You did good today. The kid, she calls him. Like Astarion hasn't got two centuries on her. Tav loves her for it. Tav lets his eyes flutter closed. He'll be back. He's surprised to find that he believes it. It's strange that a day that began with so much blood could end with a party. Tav feels like he's in one of those dreams where everything is upside down, and nobody seems to notice except him. He makes his rounds, smiling and toasting to whatever anyone asks him to toast. Wine keeps flushing into his cup, and Tav keeps gamely emptying it. It's nice. He hasn't been to a party in what feels like years. The closest he's been to drunk lately is when he's, well, being drunk. He'll have to subject Astarion to that pun later. Tav hopes it makes Astarion's pretty nose crinkle in disgust. He likes it when Astarion makes expressions that aren't just different ways of looking perfect. Same way he likes being close enough to map Astarion's laugh lines, the ones he probably would insist are figments of Tav's imagination. It's a little miraculous, Tav thinks, that those wrinkles could survive undeath and two centuries without much occasion for genuine laughter. But Astarion is nothing so much as he is a collection of small miracles. The wine makes it harder to deny, and mercifully, easier to face. Tav's in love. Giddy, stupid love. The kind Astarion could crush without batting an eyelash, which is exactly what he'll do if he ever finds out. A cold hand catches Tav's wrist before he can bring the wineglass back to his lips. Any more of that, darling, Astarion says, and you'll make me feel like a wretch for taking you to my bed. Tav looks at him, wide-eyed. Will, is that you? Oh, thank the gods. A man with a sense of fair play. I stand corrected, Astarion crosses his arm. You're sober enough to be intensely irritating, which means I could have my guiltless way with you after all. You never feel guilty, Tav says. It's one of your best qualities. He meant it as a flirtatious joke, but Astarion's eyes darken in a way that makes regret flash hot in Tav's chest. Gods, he's constantly stepping on these little knives in the dark, tumbling around like a fool. He may have promised Astarion that he'll live through today, but that's a different promise altogether. That he'd be better. Much, much better. Astarion yawns and makes a show of stretching like a cat. Goodness, it's late. Those horned simpletons are never going to run out of cheap wine and awful songs, are they? What a tiresome little jamboree. I'm in desperate need of entertainment before the sun comes up and ruins the mood. Desire burns in Tav's blood. It's more intoxicating than the wine and harder to resist. He bites the wall of his mouth, trying to regain a sense of clarity. Two questions. What in the hells is the right thing to do in this situation, and does he have the strength to do it? Astarion can't know he's in love. That way lies madness and the breaking of fragile things, not least among them Tav's heart. But he knows Tav wants him, needs him desperately, like air and water. If Tav walks away from everything Astarion's offering tonight, he'll give up the game entirely. So then, Tav swallows hard and makes his decision. Astarion knows Tav's desire, part of it at least. Tonight, Tav will let him use that knowledge however he wishes, no matter how much it hurts. And it will hurt, be certain of it. Well, it's impressive, the way Astarion weaves both impatience and seduction in the same breathy note. He's drawn close to Tav, they're only inches apart. Tav's taller, so Astarion tilts his head back. A devastating angle, with those red eyes smoldering through his lashes, and the long, beautiful line of his throat on full display. I won't wait all night, but if you're this deep in your cups, perhaps it's better if I handle things alone. I can certainly show myself a better time than a drunken, clumsy oaf. Tav blinks at him slowly. Astarion, do you remember last night? What an odd question, Astarion breathes. Of course I do. Are you having problems with your memory? That'll be the drink, my dear. Oh, my memory's fine. I remember making you come so hard you broke two of my fingers. That look in Astarion's eyes, sudden and hungry, it makes Tav's skin break and his flesh and his cock swell. Oh, he's done for. It appears nicely, Astarion wets his lips. I can break them again if you'd like. No offense, I'd rather not wear out that particular move. I'm sure you have a few more up your sleeve. Darling, Astarion says, all soaked in heat, his mouth just a tiny bend of Tav's waist away, and gods, he doesn't know how much longer he can resist. I refuse to indulge any more of that kind of talk until you tell me if we're going to fuck. Tav almost blurts out that he'd rather know if they're going to kiss, but he catches himself just in time. Yes, he's damned either way, so might as well enjoy it. I think we are. He loses Astarion in the night, dark forest. One moment, he's following Astarion's pale, flitting figure through the trees like a dog on a chain. The next, Tav's alone. Tav stops, his heart drumming painfully. Crickets chirp around him. Uh, Astarion? The next second is the longest of his life. Healer. Tav makes a fumbling way forward, following the memory of Astarion's voice and the faint glimmer of moonlight through the trees, until he steps into a glade, and there Astarion is, waiting for him. He's wearing his britches and nothing else, and Tav can feel the sword in his gut like Karlek never pulls it out, aching and tugging at him with every step. There's no describing the way Astarion looks bare under the moon, though the words divine and marble and effigy flip through Tav's head like a frantic stabs of a terrible poet. Astarion is more than just a body to Tav. Gods, is he more. Tav's only mortal, and until the sun rises, he's called it quits from trying to be a better man. You're beautiful, Tav says, surprised to find that his voice works. Don't suppose anyone told you that before, but I thought you should know. Astarion's mouth curves into a lazy smirk and hell's bloodied teeth. Tav might actually get to find out what that mouth tastes like tonight. Nothing wrong with the classics, darling. Come here. Tav closes the distance until he's inches away from Astarion, and he stops. He can't do it. He can't take that final step. This feels wrong. He's not in physical pain. Shadowheart did fine work on him today, sparing none of her magic to seal every weeping cut and brush away every bruise. Tav was only one of the Grove's defenders with any real wounds to speak of, after all. He's pleasantly inebriated, but not drunk enough to lose himself. He's not even cold. It's a gorgeous, balmy night. The grass is soft under his feet. The moon is shining just so. And Astarion chose this meadow well. Tav hasn't seen a single mosquito. And Astarion is close enough to touch, watching Tav in a sultry silence without a single cruel word on his lips. A night you'll never forget. Everything you've been waiting for. No more torment, only pleasure. As much as you can take. When Tav doesn't move, Astarion cocks his head. Tell me what you need, love. Use your words. Or better yet, don't. Don't, Tav's voice is strangled. Call me love. Something in Astarion's demeanor shifts. A new light behind his eyes, or perhaps a window slamming shut. Whatever you like. His voice is smooth, so smooth. After all, that blood you spilled today, you've earned it. Tav looks at him. Hurt me? Astarion raises an eyebrow, but somehow Tav's sure he isn't surprised at all. Is that what you want? Even tonight? It's all I want that you can give me. It's what I need, Tav says, voice low. All that blood that I haven't bled is not the way you can make me. Ah, Astarion says. I think I understand. He reaches out and Tav shudders under his touch. Astarion's fingers brush across his jaw and down the column of his neck, finding the spot where Tav's pulse kicks back, frantic and needy. Then, in a swift and decisive movement, he takes the collar of Tav's shirt in both hands and rips. It's like the dam breaking, irrevocable, and it changes everything. Tav grabs Astarion by the hips and pulls him closer. Their bodies collide, chest to chest, and the sensation of Astarion's skin on Tav's is electrifying and it maddens him. He presses hungrily against him, letting Astarion feel the swell of his closed cock twitching with need and bares his neck. Please. For once, Astarion doesn't hesitate. Perhaps he senses that being made to wait isn't the kind of torture Tav is after. Not tonight. He bares his teeth in Tav's throat with a snarl. It hurts, burns in a way that he has never had before, and the thought flashes through Tav's mind that Astarion missed, perhaps deliberately. His fangs shred messily through Tav's flesh in search of a vein until he finds one, and then Tav gasps, knees going weak, a surge of violent pleasure jolting straight to his cock. Astarion's drinking him quickly, the way he drinks from people who are on the verge of death, gulping down as much as he can before his victim's heart stops beating and their blood sours in his mouth. Tav's watched him do it. He shivers at the mere memory of watching Astarion do it, aroused and confused in equal measure. Without warning, Tav's legs buckle. But Astarion was ready for that. Without missing a beat, he pulls Tav close in a crushing grip that guides them both effortlessly to the ground. The grass is cold and wet with night dew, and it soaks through the back of Tav's torn shirt in an instant. He gasps and chokes on blood, a gurgling sound that has Astarion rearing back, covered in red, a wild look in his eyes like he's not quite sure where he is or what he's been doing. Tav. Tav's cock throbs again. It's so rare for Astarion to say his name. Still here. God. He coughs, his throat burning. That was good. So good. More. Please. Astarion shudders, fingers crawling into the earth on either side of Tav's head. Can't take more, sweet thing. I'll finish you. And not the way you'd like. I have a better idea. He moves down Tav's trembling body. Faint and dizzy, Tav doesn't know what's happening until he feels a tug. Cold air slaps the burning flesh of his cock as it springs free, thin warmth, wet, sloppy warmth. Tav finds the strength to lift his head. A groan wrenches from him at what he sees. Astarion's lips surround him, moving slowly, being careful with his fangs, smearing crimson wherever his mouth touches. Ah, ah! Tav throws his head back, breathing like an ox, fighting the overwhelming urge to move his hips. If he loses control and makes the tiniest of thrusts, Astarion's fangs will cut him. Tav knows how sharp they are, but if his body is aflame with need, he's embarrassingly close to spilling down Astarion's throat already, a handful of seconds in. He reaches down and runs his fingers through Astarion's soft, white curls, forcing himself to be gentle, even though all his body wants is to push Astarion's head down and hear him choke. Slow... Slow down, Astarion pulls off, but not all the way. He suckles the swollen head of Tav's cock, laughing at the moisture beating at the tip, and even that is too much. Sorry and please, Tav strokes his hair, shivering. Kiss me, Astarion laughs, a sound low and smoky, and plants a light kiss on the underside of Tav's straining member. Tav's stomach clenches. Not there, Astarion sighs. He moves, lips ghosting over Tav's belly and chest. He kisses the trail up to Tav's neck and takes his time there, looking at the ragged wounds left behind by his teeth, with Tav squirming under him in equal part suffering and pleasure. And then finally, he and Tav are face to face. You asked me to hurt you, Astarion says, his breath hot and rough-scented. I didn't think kisses were part of the bargain. I can adapt, though darling, I'm quite flexible. All I need is some direction. Tav's head is spinning sick and useless with desire. He should have known better than to ask Astarion to bleed him. It always makes it harder to lie. He has had Astarion's skilled hands and now has even more skilled mouth on his cock, and truly Tav has no complaints about that. But more than anything, he wants to taste Astarion's lips. He wants it to a frankly frightening degree. Make it hurt then. Kiss me like you want to kill me. I can do that, Astarion purrs. He kisses Tav then, a wet crush of lips and tongue that tastes of iron. Tav groans, utterly intoxicated, and wraps his arms around Astarion's body. He tightens his grip and savors the way Astarion moans into his mouth in response. This, this is what he wanted. If Astarion could taste love in Tav's blood like his death wish, Tav would already be lost. Pain blooms on Tav's tongue. He gasps. At first he isn't sure if Astarion bit him on purpose or if his fang slipped, but when Astarion pierces him again, this time on the inside of his lips, Tav knows it's deliberate. He asked for this, after all. Fresh blood wells in Tav's mouth. Astarion's tongue moves equally through the flood, tasting him, licking everywhere he can reach. He grips the back of Tav's neck and kisses him deeper, making greedy sounds of pleasure that leave Tav lightheaded and hot all over. The hard ridge of Astarion's erection digs into Tav's hip, almost painful. He's still got his goddamn breeches on. And Tav's overcome, abruptly, by the desire to make Astarion rise and lose control, not just from the sucker of Tav's blood, but from Tav's skill as a lover. He might not measure up to two centuries of practice, but by the gods, he wants to make Astarion feel good. Tav reaches for the hem of Astarion's breeches, still hesitant despite it all, and Astarion growls a wordless warning into his mouth. But apparently it's an admonition that Tav is being too slow, not an order to stop. In a bewildering, sinuous movement, Astarion wriggles out of his breeches and presses their cocks together, and one hand, linked to burning length, Tav moans. To his delight, he feels Astarion shudder at the sound of his voice, hips moving as if on instinct. The start. You feel so good, Tav tells him, his voice ragged. His hands are on Astarion's hips, following along as Astarion ruts slowly against Tav's cock with his own hand. Tav's cock has been leaking all the while. He's always done that, to his own embarrassment sometimes. And soon, they're both coated, slick, and wet. So fucking good. Astarion kisses him below the jaw, breathing hard. I can do better. Anything you want, darling. He sounds different, remote, despite the rhythmic sounds of pleasure he makes as he fucks both of their cocks into his hand. Maybe Tav's imagining it, or maybe he's bored. And oh, that thought stings. The thought that Tav could bear the squirming depths of his soul to Astarion, and still, it wouldn't be enough. He'd still just pray. Just a conquest. A river of easy blood. I want what you want, Tav says, and he means it. The words come welling up from somewhere deep inside him. Dangerous words. I'd give you anything. I'd die for you. I'd kill for you. I already have. Astarion buries his face in Tav's neck with a low moan. He's moving his hips faster now, and it surprises Tav to feel him coming undone so quickly. He thought, with all of Astarion's poise and control and arrogance, that he'd last longer. Maybe it's all the blood in the air, a smell so thick even Tav feels drunk on it. Or maybe Astarion is more sensitive than he lets on. Whatever the reason, Tav's desire feeds on his. The blood builds in his belly, ratching up every time Astarion's thumb rubs feverishly over the underside of his cock-head. It would be so easy to come like this. All he has to do is let Astarion keep moving against him, and he'll soon explode. But Tav wants more. This hardly counts as using his own skills, after all. He grips Astarion's waist and flips him, pressing him down to the wet grass. Astarion huffs, baring his teeth in a surprised grin. Ah, so you did want something else. I brought oil. No need, Tav says, wondering where in the hells Astarion would have hidden such a thing. His clothes don't have pockets. Did he stash it in the woods ahead of time? That's not what I'm after. Admittedly, the thought is an enticing one. Tav's rarely found that kind of sex worth all the effort and clean-up, but Astarion brings his own unique value to the equation. Tav would probably try anything for him, go to any length to feel as close to Astarion as a mortal body allows. But no, not tonight. Tav slides down Astarion's body and rests his cheek against Astarion's hard, glistening cock. He is breathing rapidly, open-mouthed, aroused beyond belief by everything his senses are feeding him. It's overwhelming. He's floating on a sea of pleasure. Astarion's cock twitches against his lips. Well, Astarion says, voice ragged, Are you going to get on with it, or do I need to do everything myself? Oh, Tav likes it when Astarion makes demands of him. He likes it rather a lot. He takes Astarion in his mouth, and there are no things to be careful of, no reason to be careful or slow or delicate at all. This has always been Tav's favorite way to please his lovers, by far. He's so grateful, so blissfully happy, that Astarion apparently has no objections to this. No objections whatsoever, judging by the wanton noises Astarion makes and the uneven clutch of his fingers in Tav's hair. He groans, hips flexing to the rhythm of Tav's bobbing head. Ah, this is a pleasant surprise. You're rather good at that. Tav takes him deeper, moaning in wordless want. He realizes, with a jolt, that Astarion has a knee pushed up between his legs, and he's been rutting against it all this time. Tav could use his own hand, but actually, this is better. I could get used to this, Astarion's gasping now. God's above and below. Someone's been a good student with an exceedingly lucky teacher. Fuck. Tav's vision goes white. Shit, shit. Hearing Astarion say fuck like that was too much. He tenses up, goes still with his mouth wrapped around Astarion's cock, trying not to come. Part of him is furious, but even when he's devoting everything he has to making Astarion feel good, Astarion is just better at it. He's got his hooks buried so deep in Tav that it's no contest. Darling, Astarion carls softly. A hand strokes through Tav's hair. It's alright. Come for me. It's such a dizzying contrast to that other night, when Astarion hissed at him to shut up before ordering him to finish. Such a gentler touch than Tav ever thought possible. But no, Astarion has touched him like this before, once, when Tav was in agony. He's in agony now, burning from the inside with this insane, impossible, doomed love. But Astarion doesn't know that. Tav shudders and lets go. He moans on Astarion's hips, jerking as his release paints hot streaks across the ground beneath them. Good boy. Astarion groans, losing control now. He presses Tav's head down and bucks urgently into his throat. You've been so good for me. Tav goes limp, clinging to the hard angles of Astarion's hips and letting him do whatever he pleases, white-hot aftershocks of pleasure fluttering through him with every thrust. He can't breathe. His throat is on fire, inside and out, and his mouth is full of his own blood. But this, this is all he wants. For Astarion to use him, to give him everything he's capable of giving, and trust Tav to take it. It's not love. It makes Tav feel like death. But tonight, it's worth living for. Astarion's hips snap forward one last time and Tav feels him pulse, spilling his seed down the back of Tav's throat. That's it, Astarion gasps, fevered, his thumb rubbing circles behind Tav's ear. That's it, love. The word goes through Tav like a blade. He knows Astarion doesn't mean anything by it. He's never meant anything by it. It's just a mindless pet name. But it sticks in him, cold as steel. The best weapon Astarion has, and he doesn't even know it. He wouldn't be surprised if Astarion left him there, used and boneless on the forest floor, covered in blood and spend. A fitting end to the night, full circle to how this whole day started. Tav could do that, lie on the ground and stare up at the sky like a corpse, pretending to be dead until the sun rises. It would be easier than everything that comes after. God, he's tired. But Astarion doesn't go. Lightly at first, then firmly, he pulls Tav up from between his legs and rolls him onto his back. Then he settles on his elbow and looks at Tav with dark, unreadable eyes, saying nothing. Tav's chest rises and falls uncountable times. He drinks in the sight of Astarion's face, mouth carmine with gore, and adds it to the growing list of things he can use to torture himself later. Finally, when his breath has settled enough to speak, he says, So you are a man of your word. Yeah, I have a little trick that makes it easy. I only make promises I think I'll enjoy keeping. Tav feels a ghostly touch skate across his belly, right where the sword went in, and he stiffens. But it's only Astarion's hand, tracing the skin there. He doesn't seem to care about the mess. It's a pretty scar, Astarion says. You've quite the collection. Can I tell you a secret? Astarion laughs, a little breathlessly. Just so long as it's not a confession of your undying love. If words could cut, those would scar in an instant. The Tav's groin, inert to the pain. Hardly any of these are from battle. Only the new ones. The rest... Ah... Astarion says sagely. Icarus. He wasn't the only one, but yes, Tav braces himself, takes a chance. Your turn. Tell me about the ones on your back. He doesn't miss the way Astarion goes completely still, a snap frost. But his voice is as easy as it ever was when he replies, In the morning, darling, if you're still curious. I've too spent to tell stories just now. Tav thinks he's lying, and if he weren't so wrecked himself right now, in more ways than one, he tests that assumption by coaxing Astarion into another round. He takes Astarion's circling hand by the wrist, and brings those soiled fingers to his mouth to lick them clean one by one. He doesn't bother to watch Astarion's face while he does. This, at least, is for Tav. No one else. When he's done, he looks into Astarion's eyes and is satisfied by the faint flicker of renewed hunger there. Good. Tav guessed right. They'll all have to be enough. Astarion. He opens his arms, an invitation to wriggle closer or bury a knife in his heart. Or perhaps both at once. Hey, Mermy. The man wants a cuddle. Astarion sighs and settles into place, resting his head on Tav's chest. How novel. But I did promise you anything. His voice goes low, drifting. Hmm, that's a nice sound. What is, Tav asks, hardly daring to breathe. Astarion flattens his palm over Tav's beating heart like it's a toy he doesn't want taken from him. This.