Datasets:
mickume
/
dnd_drow

Dataset card Data Studio Files
xet
Community
text
stringlengths
0
41.4k
Scandalized by Halsin’s mature response, he turns on his heel and starts stomping back to his tent to get ready until Halsin pipes up.
"Wait, Astarion!"
The vampire stops and turns slowly.
" What," he croaks through his teeth.
Halsin is raising his hands like he’s surrendering to a mean little cat.
"I love you too."
Astarion’s eyes pop open and his cheeks turn pink. "WHA— YOU— RRRGH!"
With a fond smile, Halsin watches the vampire stomp, stomp, stomp away until he’s a tiny sliver in his tent.
"Astarion! Behind you—"
A premonitory shiver races up Tav’s spine and he whips to the left. Just in time. An arrow sings past his head and buries itself in the ruined timbers of a support beam.
Tav catches the next one in his shield. Thunk. There’s something immensely satisfying about the sound, the impact, even as it jars his arm. Gods, he missed that.
Astarion. He’s not where Tav saw him a moment ago, crouched in the shadows with a warg’s jaws looming over his shoulder. Panic chokes Tav. Where—
A spray of hot, wet mist engulfs him from behind.
"Sweet hells, darling. I’m not a newborn lamb." Astarion rips his blade free from a hobgoblin’s spine and glares at Tav, his eyes black with bloodlust. "Keep an eye on your own backside, will you?"
Tav flushes, but there’s no time to argue. There’s a cry from across the ruined house; one of the Harpers is down. A warped, many-legged shadow looms against the wall. Kar’niss, moonlantern in hand and cruel blade raised, ready to strike.
Heat surges through Tav’s body. The Blood of Lathander glows at his side; Astarion, cloaked in shadow, stalks at the other. All is well. Tav can do this for hours. Forever.
This is what living feels like. Right now, it’s all Tav needs.
"They’re back!"
The cry ripples through Last Light, swelling into a chorus. Tav glances sideways at Astarion and can’t help but grin at his sour expression. Astarion may despise this hero’s welcome, but it’s exactly what he deserves. Without him, this inn would be nothing more than a shadow-cursed husk swarming with the unquiet dead.
"Look what I found." Tav deposits the moonlantern on a table, right on top of a heap of inked-up maps and scrolls, and meets Jaheira’s flat stare.
Jaheira crosses her arms. "Looks broken."
Somewhere behind Tav’s shoulder, Astarion makes an ill-disguised sound of contempt. Tav ignores him.
"Well, yes, it is now. But a pixie owes me a favor."
"A pixie," Astarion remarks, sotto voce. "Imagine that. The Absolute trembles, I’m sure."
Jaheira’s lip curls into a smirk, as if she doesn’t exactly disagree. But Tav’s too buoyed by success to let either of them bring him down. He has a shield again, plus two sets of clean clothes, and he didn’t lose a single Harper in the ambush. Last Light is still standing despite Tav being away for hours. He even remembers the entirety of the battle against Kar’niss—not a single moment lost to red or black.
"In the meantime, I found something better," Jaheira says. " You may not appreciate it, but everyone else will. It will be a marvelous asset in the days to come."
Tav’s interest is piqued. "What is it?"
Jaheira eyes him from head to toe. "A bathtub."
Tav sinks into the warm water with a deep groan of pleasure. If he’s being nitpicky, the water isn’t warm. It’s the temperature of Astarion’s skin after he’s been lying against Tav all night: neither cold nor hot, in perfect equilibrium.
Gods, this feels good. Tav’s going to have to change the water after he’s finished; it’s already gone dark and opaque, and he hasn’t even started scrubbing yet. But for a precious few minutes, he can relax.
Tav leans back against the rough wood rim of the tub and closes his eyes. The basement of Last Light is quiet and still, save for a few muffled squeaks in the walls and the creak of floorboards above.
He’s alone down here. Completely alone.
A little frisson of discomfort works its way through him, growing stronger by the moment, threatening to displace the pleasure of his first bath in days. And then, suddenly, it’s all he can feel.
The bath is too much like the void. It’s too comfortable. He can’t relax like this, especially not alone. Danger. He’s in danger.
Tav panics. Water sloshes over the rim of the tub as he struggles to rise, only to slip and splash back down. The water’s nearly black now.
He needs the Blood of Lathander. It’s lying on top of a heap of his clothes, out of arm’s reach.
"I leave you alone for five minutes," sighs a voice from behind him. Cool fingers slide over his shoulders to rest on his collarbones. "And the first thing you do is try to drown yourself in the bath. Answer me honestly, love: how did you ever manage to survive before we met?"
Tav drags in a breath, his whole body sagging in relief at Astarion’s touch. "Obviously my luck was better back then."
"Undoubtedly," Astarion says. "Meeting a vampire spawn does tend to mark a downturn in one's fortunes."
Tav twists his head to look at him. "Gods, that’s not what I—"
The words die on his tongue. Astarion’s naked, because of course he is. The Blood’s white-gold glow suffuses him like the sun behind a silk screen. He’s almost as filthy as Tav was before he got in the bath, but Astarion’s beauty is not a thing that takes notice of blood or grime—or even bits of drider brain matter.
Tav’s first instinct is to look away. Seeing Astarion like this, here in the middle of a dusty basement, is not at all the same as a naked Astarion crawling over him in a tent or a candlelit inn room. It feels like sacrilege. Like putting his filthy hands all over something holy.
"I know what you meant, love." Astarion’s voice drips with satisfaction. Like he knows exactly why Tav can’t look at him right now and it’s precisely the effect he intended. "But I also know you can’t be content without a spot of torment."
"You’ll get cold," Tav says, though he knows Astarion won’t. "Let me finish up here and you can have your turn."
"Why wait? Not that it's roomy enough for two, but neither are those awful tents and that’s never stopped us before."
Tav’s knuckles whiten on the rim of the tub. He can see where this is going and he’s seized with a sudden paralysis of indecision. 
Every part of him craves Astarion, there’s no denying that. Tav would crawl inside his skin if he could, if it wouldn’t hurt him, if they’d both be okay after. But there’s something else now too, another instinct stirring inside him. An echo of the full-body repulsion and dread he felt when he saw those knives on the mattress and Astarion’s pale, unmarked skin.
"Speechless, are we?"
Astarion’s hands leave Tav’s shoulders and Tav shivers. He wants them back. But gods help him, his want is a terrible thing. He can’t be trusted with it.
"Astarion," he begins, and stops. His mind is churning, all the wrong words caught in the gears. He can’t ask Astarion to leave. Can’t beg him to stay. Can’t, can’t, can’t.
Safer, as always, just to let Astarion have his way. Hurt Tav however he likes. Tav just has to be careful. He can’t afford to slip below the surface completely. He needs to keep his head above water, or maybe just one eye, to make sure no harm comes to Astarion.
"Don’t worry, darling." Astarion’s voice is silken. "I told Jaheira not to send anyone else down for at least an hour."
He swings a leg over the rim and eases into the black water without a splash. And there truly isn’t room for both of them in here. Tav tenses up, his heart racing, as Astarion leans back against him with a sound not unlike a purr of contentment. 
Astarion’s back is pressed to Tav’s front: scars to scars. White curls tickle the still-healing wound on Tav’s shoulder; the tip of Astarion’s ear grazes his cheek. His skin is cooler than the water. His hair smells like blood.
"Gods," Tav says. He didn’t mean to say anything at all. It just slipped out.
"Not quite." Astarion tips his head back, over the curve of Tav’s shoulder. His breath ghosts across Tav’s neck. "They aren’t in the habit of answering prayers. But I could be convinced to grant a benediction or two, if you ask nicely."
In a fit of desperation, Tav gropes for the sponge he left on a stool next to the tub. Something to do with his hands. "Here. Let me."
To his immense relief, Astarion humors him. His arms come up to arch lazily over his head, clasping behind Tav’s neck, and he reclines like that while Tav runs the sponge in slow circles over Astarion’s chest. He’s trying to soothe himself as much as—or, realistically, more than—Astarion.
What he really wants to do is clean the blood and dirt out of Astarion’s hair and run every one of those silken strands between his fingers, but Astarion’s hardly in a position to let him do that.
"This is—nice," Astarion says. Tav hears an odd note in his voice, something he can’t identify. It can’t be fear, but it almost sounds like it.
Tav’s hand hesitates. He swallows, gathering his courage, and asks, "Is it okay? I can stop."
Astarion stiffens. His arms come down and his fingers close around Tav’s wrist underwater, hard enough to make Tav let go of the sponge. It bobs to the surface, unmoored.
His grip is punishing; Tav can feel his anger. It’s not at all what he expected. Hells, he’s screwed up again and he doesn’t even know how.
"What I need," Astarion says coldly, straight into Tav’s ear, "is for you to keep your eyes on your own plate. It’s sweet that you want to protect me. Adorable, even. But you can’t win points with me by ignoring a sword aimed for your own back. Stop that, and you can do whatever else you wish . Like this."
He pulls Tav’s hand between his legs. He’s not fully hard, far from the granite rod pressed against the small of Astarion’s back that Tav’s been trying to ignore this whole time. But the moment Tav touches him, Tav feels him stirring.
Is this what you want? Tav almost asks. The words are on the tip of his tongue.
But hell’s teeth, if Astarion’s vexed already, that question will only invite his fury. Tav knows by now that only Astarion is allowed to use that word. And only as a weapon aimed for Tav’s heart.
He has to find some other way to ask. And quickly.
"Nothing happened today," Tav says. "You were there. I knew you would be there."
"Don’t foist your responsibilities on me, dear. That shield of yours isn’t for decoration. Use it."
Astarion’s hand squeezes, forcing Tav’s fingers to close. His cock twitches and swells in Tav’s palm. Tav gives in, only a little—he grips Astarion in earnest, but doesn’t move.
His own body is betraying him. Every pulse that runs through Astarion’s stiffening cock is answered by a telltale tremor against the small of Astarion’s back. Tav’s hopelessly, inexorably linked to him, to his pleasure, even if it’s hollow and transparently calculated like this.
"I can take a few hits." Tav tries a different tactic. "It’s part of the fun."
"By all means, enjoy yourself in a romp—heavens know I do. But the fun ends when your blood hits the floor. That’s mine, and I won’t have you wasting it."
Astarion’s nails dig into the back of Tav’s hand. He wants Tav to stroke him, to surrender. But Tav’s not in a mood to be obliging. He’s more than a little annoyed now, actually, by Astarion’s casual declaration of ownership.
"If it’s yours, why don’t you take it when I offer?"
"Because it’s not up to you," Astarion snaps. "I can have it when I like, or reject it as I please. That’s what it means to own something, darling. I know you're clever enough to understand that, even if it's a close thing."
He's being cruel. Which is how Tav knows he's on the back foot. If he can just get Astarion to admit that this is what he wants , or even what he doesn't, then Tav wins this round.
They both do, actually, but Astarion certainly won't see it that way. 
"Fine, then." Tav tilts his head, baring the side of his neck to Astarion’s mouth. "It’s yours. You can have it when you like. And I’d like to keep watching your back in battle, so I will. Does that make us square?"
Seconds tick by. Astarion’s nails dig deeper into the back of Tav’s hand, almost certainly drawing blood, but he doesn’t speak.
Tav can hardly breathe. Did he just talk his way out of one of Astarion’s verbal snares? Is this real, or is he dreaming?
"My dear," Astarion says, his voice strained. "You have no idea how any of this works, do you?"
He’s fully hard in Tav’s hand. Tav desperately, terribly wants to pleasure him now, to hear his soft growls of approval and feel his muscles quiver with increasing urgency on the ascent to his peak. He’s spent weeks learning Astarion’s body, and despite all the distractions and setbacks, Tav thinks he’s been a good student.
But he has to hold out, even though his own desire is eating him from the inside. It feels important now, for reasons Tav doesn’t fully understand, but that have everything to do with the last time they were intimate. A night he’d like to carve from his memory and cast into the deepest chasm in the shadow-cursed lands, but he can’t.
When Astarion admitted he didn’t want him and he never had.
And as much as that hurts, as much as that makes Tav want to slit his own throat and die choking on blood, Tav knows Astarion wasn’t being cruel. He was being honest.
That was a gift. Tav doesn’t intend to squander it.
"Not really," Tav says. "Do you?"
Astarion huffs and Tav feels his hips tense, just a little, pushing himself into Tav’s hand. Tav calls on his deepest reservoirs of willpower and keeps perfectly still, even as the wet friction of Astarion’s back against his aching cock makes him throb with need.
"Of course I do, pet."
"Explain it to me, then. Like you said, I’m not too clever."
Tav can almost hear Astarion’s jaw grinding. That can’t be good for his fangs.
"You give me what I need," Astarion grits out. "I give you what you want. Satisfied?"
Sex isn’t what you need, Tav wants to fire back. So what is?
But as bold as he’s become over the last few minutes, he isn’t quite ready to detonate this trap and blow himself and Astarion sky-high. That wouldn’t just be foolish; it would be greedy. Astarion’s spent two hundred years building this awful mansion of smoke and mirrors where a single misstep means death, and Tav can’t hope to tear it down in one go. He’s lucky to have survived long enough to get past the front door.
No. Not lucky. He’s still alive because of a lot of hard fucking work, on his part and Astarion’s. And if he’s going to stay alive long enough to finish the job, he can’t be hasty.
Tav can feel Astarion’s parted lips on his neck, breathing moist air onto his skin. He senses Astarion’s hunger—he’s never not hungry, no matter how much he feeds, that much Tav has been able to guess after enough time—but it’s well under control. Good. He can’t use his bloodlust as an excuse to derail this exchange.
"I want," Tav says slowly, deliberately, "to keep you safe. Fed. Happy."
Astarion makes a little sound against his neck. His hips lift again, more blatantly this time, the ridge of his cock squeezing past Tav’s thumb. "I’m not your little lap dog, darling. Collar me and I’ll bite. You’ll see."