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Astarion remembers the disappointment washing over him at the words, and then a glimpse of panic. He felt like he failed a mission. He was getting ready for a punishment, except that he was kilometres away from Cazador, and the druid's rejection was his worst punishment.
"But don't let that stop you from having fun," Halsin then added. "I'm sure there are others that would gladly keep you company tonight."
Indeed, there were others. But it was the druid—not the others—whose presence captivated Astarion, and who made him worry. Other companions have already proved that they weren't going to try and kill him, and so he didn't need to seduce them.
"Astarion?" Halsin calls for him.
It brings Astarion back to reality, but he hesitates to answer. Am I really attracted to him, he asks himself again. He searches for an answer, but his brain is quiet. His stomach, on the other hand, is very much not. Deciding to play it safe, he says, "I think I'll stick with this being only a meal, thank you."
Astarion notices the pause it takes for the druid to answer. How his curious gaze checks him up and down, then fixes on his face. How his mind still wanders when he says, "Well, in that case, I ate extra tonight so you could feed for as long as you need. Come, Astarion, sit beside me."
Astarion doesn't move. He frowns, tilting his head to the side. He lets out a quiet, "Oh?" Then asks in a normal voice, "Have you?"
Halsin smiles. "All for you, Astarion," he answers in his ever so warm and earthy voice.
Astarion studies him for a long moment. Can this be that this bear of a man is actually interested in him? Can this be that, in fact, he's been interested in him all along and just didn't show it? Why did he reject him at the party then? Astarion doesn't see a single indication of the druid joking or trying to trick him. Well, isn't it just his luck? Still, Astarion isn't sure. He wants to believe Halsin, he really does. It’s just that—after Cazador—it’s hard to let his guard down with anyone.
"Darling," Astarion puts on a fake smile in hopes that it masks his real feelings, "that’s very generous of you, but you shouldn’t have bothered. I don’t need very much."
Even though Astarion would love for the words to be truthful, it’s not that simple. Since there wasn’t a single animal in sight, he hasn’t had a chance to taste blood for the past several days. He’s not planning on sucking Halsin dry, but he also feels like he could drain an entire bear of its blood and still be hungry after.
Astarion doesn’t feel particularly bad about lying to Halsin, but he doesn’t feel great about it, either. It’s not every day that an Archdruid, who has the natural wild shape of a cave bear—an animal that can quench his thirst the most—comes up to him and says, "I noticed that you’ve been struggling with finding animals to feed on. I don’t know if anyone else offered, but, if you need to, if you want to, you can feed on me."
It only took a second for Astarion to smile slyly and say, "Do you always go around offering yourself to vampire spawns in your spare time, or should I feel special?"
Astarion also caught Halsin’s reaction to the words—the little frown and how the druid looked away. He felt his embarrassment and how he lost control for a second. He saw that spark of a wild, untamed beast in his eyes. It was very unexpected—especially days since the rejection, but also very amusing.
"I usually don’t," Halsin then answered, trying to keep a neutral expression.
"And now you’ve decided to widen your horizons and ask if I, of all spawns, can do that? Oh, darling, I am flattered. But," he faked hesitation beautifully, "I must think about it."
"Of course," Halsin nodded.
In reality, there was nothing to think about. Astarion was, and still is, famished.
Now that they are together in a place where not a soul can disturb them, Astarion pushes down an unsettling feeling and crosses the distance between them. Standing in front of Halsin, he focuses his gaze on Halsin's neck and finds the quick pace of his pulse. Through the rush of blood, Astarion can hear Halsin’s steady heartbeat. He needs to be on his best behaviour tonight, but it’s so tempting to sink his teeth into the artery right now. To catch the druid off-guard, to taste his blood for the first time... The idea itself makes Astarion’s mouth water and his stomach grumble loudly.
"Please," Halsin says as he pats the free spot next to him, "sit down."
Astarion swallows the accumulated saliva, but his throat still feels dry. "Um, why?"
He sees the intensity with which Halsin looks at him. It's not something Astarion hasn't experienced before—all kinds of creatures used to undress him with their eyes, but Halsin doesn’t actually do that. He seems to be just... watching, looking for something in him. For what, Astarion doesn’t know as he’s too weak to try and read Halsin’s thoughts right now, and the uneasy feeling grows in his solar plexus at the awareness of that.
"Just trust me," Halsin says.
With his raging hunger reminding of itself though yet another growl, Astarion's anxiety is quickly overshadowed by annoyance. He feels like, if he waits long enough, his annoyance will then turn into anger, and then he can say goodbye to his free meal. Breathing deeply, he tries to sugar the words inside him so his bad mood doesn't startle Halsin. He ignores the rush of blood and Halsin’s pulse. He says purely on a hunch, "You know you’re too tall for me, right? If I sit next to you, I won’t be able to reach your neck. I mean, I could, but—"
He doesn’t finish, seeing Halsin silently slipping to the ground. The realisation then comes to Astarion quickly and he acts on it. As he sits down on a log beside the druid, the height difference evens out between them.
"Huh." He doesn’t admit it, but that’s clever.
"That’s the idea I had in mind," Halsin says, and, despite trying to play it cool, Astarion catches the embarrassment in his voice. Oh, dear, Astarion thinks with satisfaction. Has the druid spent a long time thinking about that? "I thought that would be fair to you," Halsin continues. "But now that I think about it, you should be more comfortable if I sit directly in front of you. Would you mind that? You can lean on me if you need to."
The words leave Astarion speechless. It really shouldn’t—that’s just logical, and Halsin seems to be anything if not logical. But Astarion sees it in a different light. He sees it through Cazador’s pretence of false promises. He thinks of when Cazador has claimed him forever, making him his first spawn. Astarion thinks of how, in Cazador’s words, he should’ve felt honoured to experience something so raw and so rare. Meanwhile, Astarion’s experience was mostly to endure. Compelled to do anything for his master for two hundred years, Astarion had to be just a thing to be used and a thing to have fun with until he was finally granted a glimpse of freedom towards the end of his first fifteen years of enslavement.
The first time Cazador allowed Astarion to go out on the roof, Astarion was beyond himself. He hadn't seen the stars and the moonlight in such a long time, he couldn't hold back the tears at the sight of them. The wind caressed his skin and played with his white curls. He felt like he was born anew and he spent that first night on the roof without leaving until dawn. He was so excited, he couldn't sleep. In truth, he was also afraid. He feared that, if he closed his eyes, he would actually wake up. That his newly regained freedom turns out to be just a dream—too good to be true.
On the second night he dared to leave the roof to find some rats to feed on and then immediately went back. The second night was also the one when he learned that Cazador created another four spawns—at least that was how many he met deeper in the castle. Before that night he was often locked in one of the rooms in the upper level, where Cazador had raped him thousands of times. One of those nights Cazador had gone even further—instead of raping Astarion, he turned it into a painting session. Except that the canvas was Astarion’s back and the painting brush was a dagger. After the painting itself was done, it was revisited multiple times over the years.
The rest of the time Astarion was kept in a small cell in the dungeon, chained to a wall. When it came to feeding, he was either starved or, on occasion, been fed rotten rats. When he tried to refuse such a generous offering, Cazador had forced him to torture himself—both as a punishment and an entertainment.
On the third night Astarion almost slept on the roof, but then he got scared that he wouldn't wake up in time and the sun would get him.
On the fourth night, Astarion brought his favourite book with him and a couple of candles that barely did anything to help him read, but he felt happy nonetheless. He was no longer chained to Cazador and Cazador’s shadow had no longer kept an eye on him. Astarion felt almost like his own person again.
On the fifth night, it all ended. Astarion remembers how impatient his master always was, how little it took for him to get bored and start torturing him again. The fifth night turned out to be just that. Astarion could also see that there was more to Cazador’s impatience. When given the ultimatum, it was very easy to understand that the plan was carefully crafted from night one.
"Do you want to be able to go out to the city?" Cazador had asked him.
Astarion thought that it was one of his master's sick jokes—there was no way his master would allow him to go outside. Yet, despite not having it in him to answer loud and clear, Astarion tested his fate by saying meekly, "Yes."
"Then I need you to start bringing new people into the castle," Cazador had answered. "You're to do whatever is necessary in the city to make that happen, but you're not allowed to leave the city's grounds. I'll give you," Cazador had paused, thinking, "let's say I'll give you another five days to bring me four people. Marquis is still learning and brings me one every two days. You, my dear, are very skilled, so you should be just fine. But be warned, my precious child, that if you fail to deliver, you're going back to the dungeon. I believe I don't need to explain what that means?"
Astarion remembers the look that Cazador had given him—it was so cold, so deeply unsettling that Astarion had to look away. He shook his head and answered in a whisper, "No, you don't."
Astarion remembers how Cazador forcefully kissed him on the lips, and, before leaving him out on the roof, said, "Get to work then."
Astarion remembers the terror that his master created in him at that very moment. He knew that the dungeon meant more starvation for him—probably longer than before, and that meant longer than several months. More torture—which meant more hours during the day when he wouldn't be able to escape and had to sit as quietly as possible while Cazador was carving away on his back. More rape—which was something Astarion didn't even want to think about, but he couldn't help but to think of Cazador letting his new spawns try his chances with him. Astarion was willing to do whatever was necessary, indeed, to avoid that kind of punishment because he wouldn’t have any other choice but to obey.
At that point in his life breaking free from Cazador's tight grip was unthinkable. He wouldn't know where to run and how to hide from his master, so he stayed. He started luring creatures to the castle with his body and the promises of a very fun night with him, and it turned into one of the biggest mistakes of his entire life. He didn't know that the worst was yet to come.
The images are flooding Astarion’s mind, and suddenly he gets very aware of his own heartbeat. He shakes his head, not wanting to be thrown back into the living nightmare he escaped from, but he can’t help it. He thinks that, if he stumbled upon Halsin back in the day, Halsin might've been one of his victims. Halsin wouldn't even suspect a thing—because Astarion was that good. Then this bear of a man wouldn’t come to him last night to offer a drink, and he wouldn’t sit here with him to save him from starvation—because nothing would have been left of Halsin once Cazador got a hold of him.
What if he was in Halsin’s shoes right now, and if Halsin was the starving hunter? Would he willingly become Halsin’s prey and offer him to drink from his neck? Or would he run as far as he'd thought was possible and, if caught, fought until his last breath before letting another soul use him again? Astarion doesn’t need to reflect on those questions for long to know the answer. "I can save you,’ Cazador had told him upon meeting him for the first time. He even chased away his attackers. He was nice at the beginning, too. And Astarion didn’t want to bleed to death on the street, so he took Cazador up on the offer. Only after being turned had he realised how long an eternity will be with his new master.
"Astarion, are you alright?"
The question startles Astarion. Mixed with his own memories, he gets a creeping feeling at the nape of his neck, followed by goosebumps. He looks at Halsin as if he sees him for the first time. "I—" he says, but it’s the best he can do.
Something isn’t right here, the recognition strikes Astarion. Why is the druid being so... thoughtful, so understanding? Why is he willing to do so much for him without asking anything in return? He couldn't possibly be doing that out of the kindness of his heart. Cazador definitely didn’t.
"Why are you so nice to me?" Astarion asks, and it comes out more anxiously and defensive than he anticipates.
The druid looks over his shoulder. "I just want you to feel comfortable," he says perplexedly, a questioning look in his eyes.
"And that’s it?"
"That’s it," Halsin nods.
Despite his fangs aching to bite, Astarion is not ready to accept that kind of answer. Centuries of torment and hunting for prey have taught him to pick up on the smallest lie, and he’d rather go another night without blood than to let Halsin trick him into something he doesn’t mean. "I can feel that you’re lying," Astarion says. "You either start talking or this," he links them together with a circular motion in the air, "is not happening."
Halsin pauses. Moving into a more comfortable position, he seems to ponder his next words very carefully. He looks Astarion in the eyes when he speaks again. "I understand that it might be... hard for you to trust others." Astarion can’t help but to scowl at the words. It takes his entire willpower to let Halsin continue. "Considering how poorly your kind has always been treated, if I were you, I’d be suspicious as well. But I assure you, I'm no threat. You don’t need to be suspicious of me. Or—"
Astarion hears how the druid keeps talking, but his brain doesn’t register the words. It’s an echo of Cazador's words that he listens to instead. "Don't fret now, my child. You're safe with me. I'll take care of you from now on." The recollection of one of thousands Cazador's lies sends Astarion over the edge.
"No," he growls, his voice raising. "No, you know nothing about me!" The anger burns inside him, but he’s also quick to notice the deepened frown lines in Halsin’s puzzled expression. Astarion immediately tries to take a hold of himself, but the ache of both his hunger and the memories blur his vision, despite him trying to blink the haze away. When his head stops spinning, he takes a deep breath and states in a firm but calmer voice, "Don’t tell me what to do and how I should feel."
"My apologies," Halsin rushes. "I was just trying not to make things awkward between us, which seems that I did anyway and offended you in the process. That was not my intention at all. Again, I apologise. Seems like not a thing can escape your attention no matter how hard one might try and hide it." Halsin offers him a weak smile, but Astarion doesn’t return it.
The words don’t bring him any sense of satisfaction, but instead only sting and confuse, eliminating all his anger. "Say what's on your mind and let me draw my own conclusions instead of making the decision for me."
"You’re right, of course," Halsin replies and sighs. "I like you, Astarion." He pauses, and Astarion can see that he is searching for words. "I've been watching you for the past week and, please correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think that anyone at the camp offered to help? And since you can't really feed on anything but blood, I can only imagine how hungry you truly are by now. My reason for being here is still the same, really. I want to help."
There’s a pause before Astarion bursts out laughing—loudly, nervously, uncontrollably. Oh, how noble of you, he thinks. So what will that turn into? Will he have to jump into Halsin's arms and shower him with kisses of gratitude because Halsin was observant enough and decided to play the hero? Will Halsin expect him to follow his druid path and reward him with "being one with nature', as druids love to call it? Why, Gods damn it, did Astarion let himself believe that it would be different with Halsin? Because Halsin seemed to be very calm around him? Astarion huffs at his own idiocy. Cazador used to call him many names, and it seems that nothing has changed since he escaped him. Seems like he's still an idiot, after all.
Without a glimpse of a smile, Astarion focuses on the druid's face again. It appears that Halsin tries not to show his emotions and look neutral, but his jaw is now clenched. Astarion thinks about how their situation looks and quickly realises that his own reaction wasn't the best, either.
"I'm sorry," Astarion forces out the words. "I didn't mean to laugh. I..." he pauses. I'm tired, he admits to himself. He wants to either clear the air and get what he came here for or get it over with and go back to camp. "It's just that you lied to me, and I have a history with... let's call him a particular someone . He lied to me about wanting to help me and then, well... things didn't go my way. So if you, too, want to go down that road, I don't think I want to go with you. In fact, I'm sure I don't want to."
Astarion watches how a brief hurt expression appears on the druid's face. Then his eyebrows raise, and, finally, as the meaning of the words must be settling in, Halsin's facial features soften. "I understand," he says carefully. I doubt that, Astarion thinks, but keeps listening silently. "And I can't even express how sorry I am to hear that something like that happened to you. But please believe me when I say that I have no ulterior motive in mind. Our friendship, as well as your trust, are very, and I repeat, very important to me. The last thing I would want for you is to do something you don't want. And if you choose to walk away because I hurt you by trying to hide my own feelings, I'll understand. However, I still dare to hope that you won't. I'm here to help—if only you'll let me."
Dumbfounded, Astarion stares back at Halsin. Two hundred years with Cazador, and never once had Cazador told him something even remotely similar—not even at the very beginning. There were always orders from Cazador. There were always complaints about what a lazy, horrible, ungrateful servant Astarion is and how Cazador should have left him to bleed out on the streets instead of saving him. Sometimes Astarion wished that Cazador did just that and left him to the mercy of the ghouls that attacked him—that way the pain would've ended quickly.
When the initial shock of becoming a slave had passed, Astarion started to pray. Every day he prayed for the torment to end, but the Gods were silent. He prayed to at least give him a sign on what he did to deserve such punishment and what he could possibly do to finally break free, but no one had answered him, either. Once on the hunt for yet another victim for Cazador, Astarion had found a lovely young boy—cheeks flushed, smile as bright as Astarion remembered the sunlight, and thoughts as pure as spring water. The boy had his entire life ahead of him. Astarion couldn't find it in himself to bring the boy back to the den, and, knowing that he would suffer for disobeying Cazador, he ran instead. He was captured, of course. Sealed in a tomb to be starved for an entire year. He tried to crawl his way out with his nails, but the stone didn't budge. He tried to drink his own blood, but there was barely any (and not like it would’ve helped, anyway). He also started praying to finally die, but the Gods weren't that merciful. After the failed escape, Astarion was obedient for a while. As his spirit was broken, he did exactly what Cazador had demanded of him and never once had he tried to do otherwise.
At some point, however, he realises that he's no worse than the boy that he let go. That if he doesn't try to break his chains again, then it's never going to happen. That he will die a slave and never taste what his real life should have been in the first place—a life full of knowledge, love, and adventure. He was—and still is—so young for an elven.
And so Astarion seized the moment and he ran—terrified out of his mind that he was rebelling against his master for the second time and that his master was going to act on his threats and end him for good. Instead, Astarion got kidnapped by a mindflayer and was infected with an illithid parasite. Which led him to join this party of lunatics that head back for the city that he escaped from. Which led to meeting a bear that had been imprisoned in the goblin camp. Which led to a formal introduction to Halsin, and then to the tieflings" party where he got rejected by the same druid. Then, to this exact moment—with Halsin so close to him, that he can feel his body heat.
Astarion thinks of the great length that Halsin has gone out for him just tonight alone, and the man’s determination hits like a slap to the face. Astarion tries to swallow the lump in his throat that he can no longer ignore, but it's stuck there. As his vision blurs, he raises his face to the sky in an attempt to avoid Halsin's gaze and to blink away the tears. He feels how the druid looks away, giving him a moment to collect himself.
"You better move closer to me then and let me drink," Astarion lets out to the sky with a breaking voice, still feeling the tightness in his throat. When he looks back down, he's met with a warm smile and a hopeful look in the druid's eyes.
"Only if you're sure," Halsin says in his kind voice. "I wouldn't want you to regret it."
Never in two hundred years had Cazador asked me if I'm sure, Astarion thinks with regret. Never had he shown that he cared. "Yes," Astarion swallows hard, still not sounding like himself. "Yes, damn you, I'm sure! Come here before I change my mind."
Halsin’s smile widens as he moves closer. To avoid physical contact, Astarion moves his legs to the side. With his lower back against the log for comfort, Halsin looks over his shoulder and says softly, "I’m glad you decided to trust me with this."
Trying not to dwell on the words so he doesn’t end up an emotional mess, Astarion supports his weight by learning on the log with one hand. "Now I need you to stay very, very still," he says seriously, but then manages to return some playfulness back in his voice as he leans closer. "We wouldn’t want to injure you in the process, would we, darling?"
Halsin chuckles and shakes his head gently. "I assure you, it would take way more than just one bite to hurt me."
You haven’t been fed on before, have you, Astarion thinks amusingly. "Still," he replies. "I'd rather you not to move."
He leans in so close that the druid’s hair brushes against his cheek. When Astarion inhales his scent, it tingles all his senses. The druid smells of wood and moss. He smells of pine trees and berries. He smells of fresh water, wet fur, and fishing. He smells of exhaustion and pleasure at once. He smells... misty, but in a good way.
"You smell... delicious," he says, savouring the smell. With the adrenalin starting to build up, he watches if the druid has any reaction to the words. Halsin’s shoulders stay relaxed, his breathing is still even. It’s only the quickened pulse that betrays his serenity. Astarion swipes all Halsin’s hair to one side and notices how the druid places a hand over his hair so it doesn’t get in the way. He watches how the druid tilts his head, offering himself to him. The words surface in Astarion’s mind, "All for you, Astarion.’ All just for him... All just for little, old him.
On that thought, Astarion sinks his teeth deep into the flesh, piercing the skin. The druid flinches at the contact before going still again. The blood rushes into Astarion's mouth, and he loses himself to hunger. It takes a while before the taste kicks in, but when it does, time seems to slow down for him, then stop. Halsin's blood tastes rich and healthy. It's hot and sweet, like mulled wine. It flows into his throat and stomach, warming him from the inside. He hears the druid's low moan, but he can't really tell whether it's out of pain or pleasure. It could be both, and Astarion wouldn’t be surprised. Then a hand lands onto his leg. Startled, Astarion pulls away abruptly and stares at their bodies touching. Halsin's skin is almost as hot as his blood, but the sight of fingers wrapping around his calf sends a shiver down Astarion's spine. When Halsin looks back at him, Astarion tries to remain calm.
Halsin's look is foggy—like he’s not fully there, and it takes a while before he can finally focus on Astarion. "Hey," Halsin exhales heavily. "Why..." he says slowly, obviously struggling to focus, "did you stop?"
Paralysed, Astarion glares back at Halsin’s hand. He tries to squeeze out the words, but he only feels his heart beating faster and faster, and his lips refusing to move. There’s no harm intended, Astarion tries to convince himself. The druid is nothing like Cazador, and he wouldn’t lie to you so cruelly just to try and take you in such a crude way. Not after the determination he put into trying to convince you to trust him. Or... maybe he would? Maybe that was the point?
"Astarion, are you alright?" The druid’s voice sounds more lively this time, and Astarion forces himself to look him back in the eyes. There’s no laughter or evil spark. There’s just... confusion?
"I need," Astarion finally manages in a strangled voice, trying not to let panic in. "I need you to let go of my leg."
"What?" Halsin frowns. So eating extra didn’t help him, Astarion suddenly realises, and it helps him let out a sigh of relief.
"Your hand," Astarion says and slightly shakes his right leg so Halsin catches the hint, "is on my leg. I need you to let go."
It takes a moment before understanding appears in the druid’s eyes, and he quickly does as he's told. "I’m so sorry, Astarion," he says. "I didn’t mean to."
Astarion nods. "I took it as such," he says, as if the urge to run away didn't just take over for a second. Despite his own distress, he has to make sure that the druid won’t pass out on him. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," Halsin smiles awkwardly. "I just felt a bit... light-headed. No need to worry, it’s alright now. Would you like to continue? I’d feel so bad if you settled for so little. I doubt that was enough for you."
And he is right. Astarion's stomach is still a hungry, empty pit. "Don't touch me again," Astarion warns him before doing anything else. "And stay still, you're losing so much blood already."
Astarion feels Halsin's need to apologise, but instead he looks away and straightens his posture. When Astarion focuses his attention on the blood, its strong smell lures him back in. Uncovered, the wounds bleed, making it to the collarbones and accumulating into a pool in the crook of Halsin's neck. Astarion sips from there and then licks the skin up to puncture wounds. Finding them with his tongue, Astarion probes the wounds and bites with new intensity. Halsin's neck tightens under his teeth. Astarion takes a big gulp, and, as the blood starts making its way down his throat again, his muscles slowly relax and his anxiety is being soothed. He drinks until the feeling of warmth spreads through his chest and fills his belly. There's a nice long moment of him starting to feel woozy, his body feeling strong and capable of anything. When the moment passes, the blood starts tasting overly sweet, until it finally turns bitter—just like boiling honey. He knows that it's only going to get worse, so he forces himself away from the neck.
He breathes heavily next to Halsin's ear, trying to catch his breath. The blood rushes through him, and, even though he doesn't mean to do so, his words sound like hissing when he speaks, "Now I’m done."
He throws his head back and takes a deep breath of the forest within. The wind feels colder now, but it's his body's temperature that's actually risen. Astarion looks at the sky, and even the moonlight seems to shine brighter now. He feels giddy. As if in reply, the stars start dancing in a circle, and he lets himself be lost in this excitable frivolity. A smile forms on his lips. It's been quite a while since he drank a bear's blood, and he's forgotten what effect it leaves on him. How easy it is to overindulge. And when it's mixed with the blood of a thinking creature, all in the same body? How delightful. How exquisite.
To think that this is how a vampire, even a spawn like him, is supposed to feel and live. To think that Cazador had fed him rats, often rotten ones, to humiliate and belittle him. To think that, because of Cazador, he had never felt the full power of his body—until now.
Astarion thinks of Cazador’s favourite dagger that Cazador used to carve scars on his back. Astarion even remembers its name—Rhapsody, and how lovingly his master was talking about it. Astarion imagines ripping that blade from Cazador’s hands and stabbing him with it. He imagines puncturing Cazador’s lungs, making him wheeze for air. He imagines Cazador in the pool of his own blood, unable to fight back. He imagines twisting the dagger in his heart until there’s no sign of life anymore.
There's rustling happening on the ground, and Astarion, with the mix of anger and indulgence rushing through him, forces himself back to reality. The log he is sitting on shifts from Halsin’s weight as Halsin sits down next to him. When he catches the sight of the druid’s left collarbone entirely covered with blood, it cheers him up even further. He giggles.
"Having fun, are you?" Halsin asks.
As if the blur spell has been used, Halsin's face, as well as his entire body, are multiplied by three with a ghostly silhouette. Astarion recognises the symptom of being drunk, but he’s not mad at himself for that at all.
"I am," Astarion says. "It’s hard not to with you. You know, you exceeded all my expectations. Your blood..." He looks at the bite marks he left and licks his bloody lips. If there were no side effects, he'd cling back to the druid's neck in no time. Alas, he’s only left to savour the lingering richness of the taste. "It's such a treat to me."
Halsin chuckles, a smile rising to his lips, and Astarion feels a wave of extra heat going through his body. "I take it you feel better now?"
"Wa-ay better, darling," Astarion drawls the words. He licks off the remaining blood of his lips and sighs dreamily. He feels better than he's ever felt in his entire life. It might be even better than sex.
"I'm glad I was able to help," Halsin says.
No longer able to gaze into four pairs of eyes that look back at him, Astarion looks up to the sky. The stars still dance for him, and, after getting tired of seeing everything in motion, Astarion closes his eyes. He listens to bats flying in the distance. He even catches the sound of a fox sneaking by, and, since he is nice and full, he's relieved he doesn't need to hunt.
They sit in silence for a long time—until the adrenaline starts to wear off and Astarion can look around and nor the trees or Halsin multiply. That's where Astarion takes his cue and rises to his feet.

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